


The Future of Warfare

by tangymustard (zestymayonaisse)



Series: Valkyria Chronicles: Crows of Schwartzgrad [4]
Category: Senjou no Valkyria | Valkyria Chronicles
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Tags may be added as needed, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:43:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27624914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zestymayonaisse/pseuds/tangymustard
Summary: The notorious Doctor Heinrich Belgar has resurfaced under the new name Edward McDonnell, and his unexpected presence poses a dangerous threat to the Lord Commissar's plans. Can his former rival be trusted, or will he prove to be another setback to York's goals?Far to the North, Kriegstotcher prepares to face their most formidable obstacle yet: a Valkyria. The Imperial Loyalists begin their final assault to take back Lowerholm.
Relationships: Nikola Graf & Chiara Rocino
Series: Valkyria Chronicles: Crows of Schwartzgrad [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1365964
Comments: 7
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Long time no see! Apologies for such a long hiatus--life finally caught up with us both, and then I got smacked with writer's block. It also didn't help that I got wholly distracted by a project not even planned to be uploaded. Originally we were going to upload another side story in the works, but we decided instead to go ahead and put up Part 4. This first chapter will ideally be the final flashback sequence in CoS.
> 
> Being four separate games, VC isn't exactly consistent with some of the finer details. Though I may be wrong (if I am, I'd love to hear you all in the comments; there's things I've missed that you guys were helpful in correcting me), it seems VC1, 2, and 3 suggest the "wonder weapons" of the universe are found by scrounging through what was left behind by the Valkyur. Hence, Max poking around the ruins, and the Marmota being more of a platform than a tank. VC4 throws an extra wrench into things by showing that the nation states are also developing their own "wonder weapons" (A2 series) as well. For the purposes of CoS, I kind of combined these two. The Valkyur still left behind ruins and tech that are subject to intense study, but nations are developing their own WMDs.
> 
> Thanks everyone for your patience and for reading. CoS is definitely not dead, we've just been hitting quite a few bumps in the road as we try to make our way through Part 4. Once we get the action wrapped up here, the rest of the story should be smooth sailing. See you all soon! And as always, cover art by @splatsune on tumblr.

The inter-war period within the Empire was considered a boon by many Imperial scientists, who found their focus shift from the possible to the realm of the theoretical. Projects once considered unethical or unfeasible were reopened with generous budgets paid straight out of the Emperor’s personal fortune. There was but one condition: these great minds had to look to the ancient Valkyur for guidance. The fantastical accomplishments of an extinct race soon served the living once more, if only for the purpose of destroying civilization.

  
  


No man was more exceptional than the notorious Doctor Belgar, who saw ethical restrictions as an unnecessary impedance to his studies. Namely, the grail of ragnite implosion, to which he remained insistent would serve as a revolutionary organ that could propel the Imperial Alliance toward achieving the same level of technological ascendancy the Valkyur once possessed. Though personally, he was less interested in the military applications of his work and more intrigued by their potential to usher in a golden age of discovery for humanity. However, the Emperor wanted weapons, and it was weapons he would get. Belgar oversaw numerous propulsion trials, trying to perfect an engine that would carry a metal tube through the air and down onto a hypothetical enemy city. Eventually, a date was set for him to show the fruits of his painstaking labour and futile attempts to complete the formula left behind his late research partner.

Distrustful of other branches of the Army, Belgar turned to his close friend Lord Commissar York to host the event at one of the numerous prison camps that dotted the vast Imperial territories.

A week before the rocket test was spent making Camp Thirteen presentable for the esteemed guests of the Imperial Court. The majority of the prisoners were transferred to temporary holding areas while those deemed essential were put to work assisting the science team from X-0. Montgomery acted as a stern overseer, ensuring everything remained in order, going as far to carefully cordon off a path for the guests to follow so they did not witness anything unsightly.

On the day of the test, the Lord Commissar was making calls in the dingy main office when the door creaked open. Looking up from the rusted steel desk, piled high with the numerous shipping manifests and transfer requests, he saw Saeoth approaching him. Oddly, though, she was wearing a traditional black uniform instead of her preferred white; the sight caused Montgomery to pinch his nose in frustration. He elected to politely conclude his conversation on the phone first. “My apologies, Count. I’m afraid we must continue this at a later time.” He returned the receiver with a soft click and narrowed his eyes at his stubborn partner. “I thought we had an agreement?”

Saeoth’s red eyes had a mischievous twinkle. She leaned on the table, the mask around her face making it impossible to know if she was smirking. He assumed so, because she replied, “I do recall an agreement of sorts… but I have decided it would be better for us both if I observed the test as well.”

Used to her unpredictable nature, Montgomery put both arms on the table. “And why is that? Surely you are aware of the risk that you could be discovered.”

“Being a valkyria is in itself a risk, Lord of Crows,”Saeoth said dismissively, the hat concealing her white hair just a little too big for her head. She fidgeted, attempting to reposition it. “I merely wish to verify if this… _Heinrich_ is deserving of your praise. His experiments involving the creations of my ancestors have hardly been compelling enough to justify your devotion.”

Montgomery adjusted his glasses, detecting just a hint of mocking in her icy tone. “My _devotion_ is merely an acknowledgment of his brilliance. He has been on the forefront of plenty of scientific breakthroughs… His achievements have ensured our Empire maintains our technological edge over our enemies.”

“Does squandering a fortune on replicating something my progenitors achieved centuries ago count as an edge?” Saoeth mused, snickering to herself, referencing the numerous failed trials that had preceded the one currently planned. It was no secret that the Emperor was growing weary of a lack of results. She took a step back from the table, shrugging. “Maybe he will succeed this time. I have my doubts, though.”

She looked at Montgomery, anticipating an answer. He pinched the bridge of his nose right above his spectacles. “I have not lost faith in the Valkyur’s true legacy.” He tapped his finger against the desk, then sighed. “Fine. You can attend, but please refrain from making a scene. The Emperor has been monitoring me closer now than ever.”

“I do not blame him, Lord of Crows. He fears the dark, like all pretenders,” Saeoth said cryptically, her red eyes focusing intently on his forehead. “The abyss can only be held back by pushing you from your perch. After all, surely you can understand that the Commissariat acting on its own authority undermines his own…” With that, she turned to open the door, allowing a chill to flow into the room. “Do not worry. I have no intention of endangering our work. Unless…” She trailed off, leaving without another word.

The door slammed shut and Montgomery removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes. His nerves were already a wreck from lack of sleep; the last thing he needed to worry about was Saeoth’s own plans. Grumbling under his breath, he grabbed the phone again, and dialed another number.

-

Leaning back in his wooden chair, Karl took a long drag off his cigarette, wondering just what he had done to pull guard duty at the front gate. The Lord Commissar had insisted it was an important job, but Karl was unconvinced as he stared at the cracks in the ceiling. At the very least, he was grateful to not be stuck filing another slew of paperwork.

The sound of a car approaching caused him to stand, blowing a cloud of smoke before smoothing out the creases in his coat. He stepped outside, watching as a red and brown luxury civilian car slowed to a stop. The window rolled down revealing the pallid face of Doctor Heinrich Belgar. Still very much a young man, his shoulder-length black hair was starting to show streaks of grey and his once-clear blue eyes were losing their intensity. They were obvious side effects of his intense study of ragnite with little protection.

Belgar gave a polite smile as he handed over his identification papers. “Always a pleasure, Commissar Ludwig. Have preparations been smooth?”

“As far as I know,” Karl said, his tone guarded as there was a degree of separation within the camp. X-0’s scientists had little interest in divulging sensitive information, and the Commissars did not wish to reveal their operational methods. He glanced at the ID, though he knew Belgar’s contemptible face anywhere. He offered the papers back, then said, “His majesty is scheduled to arrive in a few hours.”

Belgar nodded, having already spoken to the Emperor over the phone that morning. “Wonderful. That allows for plenty of time to apply the final adjustments.” Radiating the same insufferable smugness as ever, he leaned over slightly and asked, “Where is Monty? I wish to speak with him.”

“He should be in the main office,” Karl answered curtly and waved to the driver, ready to be rid of the doctor. The car jerked forward driving past him and he stood there silently. He turned, checking if any other cars were coming; seeing none on the tree-lined road, he shivered and went back inside.

-

Inside the warm automobile, Belgar took the time to make himself presentable using the mirror in the backseat. He ran a hand through his slicked-back hair, then double-checked the notebook laying next to him. Satisfied that he was sufficiently presentable, he stepped out of the car, boots crunching in the fresh snow. The main camp headquarters was a dreary stone block, a purely utilitarian design.

There was an inherent irony to Montgomery’s insistence that no resource be wasted in the Empire’s drive to destroy so much. In some ways, Belgar found it an admirable quality, except for the few times it interfered with his own research.

He set one foot firmly on the metal step and paused, feeling a presence watching him. The doctor turned, and noticed another Commissar was standing on the other side of the camp. There was an uncanniness to the motionless Crow, who might as well have been a statue.

“How ghoulish,” he muttered, and offered a short polite nod, deciding it was probably best to avoid the more unsavory types that Monty kept in his ranks. He stepped into the office, and once out of view, Saeoth walked away with an eerie grin.

-

Belgar found Montgomery engaged in an intense political debate with the Earl of Nupea. The two men made eye contact, and the Lord Commissar quickly wrapped up his conversation and slammed the receiver down. Jumping to his feet, he moved to shake hands with his old friend. “At last, you have arrived.” They shook, but it soon became a partial embrace when he grabbed the doctor’s upper arm, “Tell me, Heinrich. Are you prepared to show everyone the merit of your work?”

“Please, Monty. Your overconfidence could jeopardize everything,” Belgar said, uncharacteristically superstitious. His whole career was at stake; while he was confident in his abilities, scientific discovery was rarely a clean affair.

“Nonsense. Today is going to be one for the history books,” Montgomery said, doing well to conceal his growing personal doubts. It was becoming increasingly inconvenient to stick his neck out for X-0’s projects—attracting undue attention from the royal family put his own designs at risk.

Belgar gave a short nod and shuffled over to the window. He took a deep breath, looking at the rows and rows of wooden longhouses, their white roofs covered in snow. “It’s hard to believe its already been ten years. If only Albert could have been alive to see our research bare fruit.”

Having only ever been told part of the story regarding the death of Belgar’s partner, Montgomery came over to Belgar’s side, arms folded behind him. “There is no doubt he would have been glad that you continued his legacy… regardless of his personal reservations about our Empire.” He snorted and harshly added, “He was a fool to think ragnite implosion shouldn’t be weaponized. Moral crusaders will always find themselves left behind by history.”

Belgar bristled noticeably at the disdain toward his deceased partner, as he still held Miller as the greatest mind of the age. Rolling his eyes, he said, “As it may be, he left behind the formula that allowed me to crack the open the Valkyur’s secrets.” A well-crafted lie. In truth, the doctor had failed to complete Miller’s formula. He’d refused outright to share the complete formula with anyone else; in seeking input from the other men of science in the Empire, he had only given them pieces of the complete work. He alone had the responsibility to protect Albert’s vision; he only hoped he could do him justice. The less others were able to interfere, the less risk of someone else taking credit for _their_ work.

He stared at the sky, a hazy grey, and shifted his footing. “I just wish his majesty would have seen fit to grant me a slight extension. There are a few variables I would like to double check. The equation was incomplete, as you know.”

“We are fast approaching the revival of our conflict with the Federation. Our industrial capacity is already far beyond its limit—His Majesty is just trying to make sure all active projects are worthwhile expenditures,” Montgomery explained, having already read through the warning from Krimm’s CEO that the Imperial war machine would need another five years to be ready for the demands of total war. He rested a hand on the doctor’s shoulder and added, “Stay focused, Heinrich. Today… will surely go smoothly. Then the production rights are all yours.”

The thought of being the sole monopoly on his invention was indeed an exciting one to Belgar, as he would be free to improve upon his design with the Emperor’s support. He put a hand on his chin and mulled it over. “Hmm. Now that is an wonderful idea.” He glanced over at York and changed the subject. “Has the specimen remained sedated?”

“I wouldn’t know. I left that to your men,” Montgomery answered vaguely, remembering that Saeoth was fascinated by the role the girl was supposed to play in propelling the rocket.

“Good. Then I better make sure everything is proceeding as planned,” Belgar said, deciding he could not linger any longer. “Thank you as always, Monty. Your assistance is invaluable.”

“Anytime, comrade,” Montgomery said, waiting for the doctor to leave before relaxing completely. Most of the work on his side was finished, now he just needed to be patient. He sat back down at the desk, fingers gravitating toward the phone. He decided to ring up the Count once more, hoping to distract himself by continuing their ongoing argument.

-

A few hours later, a column of cars was visible coming down the dirt road. It was the Emperor and his personal entourage, consisting both of the Emperor’s court of yes-men and notable heads of the military. Knowing better than to check their IDs, Karl opened the gate and stood at attention, placing a fist over his heart as the procession passed. It took nearly thirty minutes for the numerous vehicles to all be parked. While the Emperor was helped from his personal car, everyone maintained a dignified silence as Belgar quickly came over to greet the esteemed monarch. A commanding presence at 6’5ft, he loomed over the rest of the men. The feathery blonde hair on his head shown magnificently in the sunlight, although the signs of aging were starting to show on his thinning temples and greying beard. Draped in a fine robe of red, white, and gold, which framed his elegant black armored suit. On his head sat a heavy crown, topped in a spiraled point. Anyone in his presence couldn’t help but be impressed by the imposing figure.

Montgomery stepped from his office, as the monarch and doctor entered into a comradely hug and exchanged cordial kisses on the cheek. Patiently York waited, knowing all too well he was on far less friendly terms with the Emperor. Finally, he walked down and offered a deep bow. “Your Majesty. You honor us—”

The Emperor immediately cut him off with a short wave. “There is no need for such a performance, Lord Commissar. This is Heinrich’s day.” His disdain for the scheming weasel from Edinburgh was more than apparent, feelings still held onto from the blindingly fast internal coup against Foka. It had been an act the Emperor both admired and recognized as dangerous, for a man like Montgomery to hold such an important office. Reaching over, the Emperor placed a jewel-covered hand on Belgar’s shoulder. “With that in mind, please show us the viewing platform.”

Maintaining an air of dignity to mute his disgust, Montgomery offered a placid smile. “Of course, Your Majesty. Forgive my brashness.” He held an arm out, pointing east. “It’s just this way. My men can direct you.”

Belgar gave a short nod, taking over with thick faux charm as he directed the Emperor in the direction of the observation zone. As the esteemed crowd left, Montgomery breathed a sigh of relief. The affair was already proving to be exhausting. Karl left his post to join York and said, “That could have been worse.”

“Indeed,” Montgomery said, turning to his subordinate and relaxing slightly. “Fortunately, His Majesty knows all too well that I cannot be replaced.” Having been involved in the drafting of the Schwartzgrad Accords, he had more than enough proof of the great lie that justified the Empire’s harsh actions against the Darcsen.

Karl nodded and almost smiled, but stopped short as he remembered something. Curiously, he glanced around. “Where is …?”

“Right here, Ludwig,” Saeoth said on cue, her icy tone interrupting their conversation. Both men jumped at her intrusion; she had an incredibly consistent habit of materializing out of nowhere. She brought a hand up, then twisted it around like she was observing herself. “The pretender is not what I expected…” Montgomery considered he had made a huge mistake in letting her attend, but could tell there would be no convincing her to stay behind now. He glared at her, causing her to smirk. She offered, “Relax, Lord of Crows. Commissar Sorina is an exemplar of your utmost loyalty to the Emperor.”

Karl and Montgomery exchanged uneasy glances, both visibly pondering the choice in cover name for herself, but knew it was best not to ask.

-

Under the soft glow of the winter sun, the architects of war crowded onto the observation platform overlooking the clearing, where a single rocket touched the horizon. Several soldiers dressed in purple, gold, and black were barely visible in the distance, making the final preparations for its launch. Waiting for the show to begin was the nobility, glittering in their jewels and finery; the men of science, with their stern faces and lab coats; the generals in immaculate uniforms; and on the edge of these distinguished individuals stood the three Crows, their black coats an ominous reminder of the forces required to ensure the privileges of those at the top.

Standing at the center, Belgar and the Emperor exchanged a few more pleasantries as the soldiers of X-0 performed one final check of the engine. Of course, the grim reality of their test was the young girl, a valkyria, contained within the central chamber. Raised from a young age within a secluded laboratory, she was to serve only one purpose—her death was of no consequence.

The visionaries rarely considered the toll of their experiments, as all that truly mattered was the outcome. Montgomery himself was already starting to ring his hands nervously, since the test could affect his own precarious standing within the court. Unconcerned about the heavy atmosphere, Saeoth whispered to Karl, “You humans are just so peculiar. Expecting a positive outcome from an agitated child poorly educated on her true purpose is foolish.”

Karl raised an eyebrow, finishing his cigarette. He tossed it before pulling out another. “Is there something we should know?”

Montgomery’s brow furrowed as he listened to Saeoth’s mischievous words, “Just that the Valkyur used our own flesh more efficiently. That frightened girl will hardly produce a desired result. Volatility should be expected.”

“What have you done?” Montgomery hissed, keeping his feet firmly planted as he resisted the urge to turn around.

Saeoth’s red eyes peered at the back of his head, coldly she said. “Nothing. I merely listened to her pleas… She is no relation of mine. True Valkyur would never live on their knees.” She started to prod a place at the base of her wrist. “I just fear that such emotional instability will create an unexpected result.”

Montgomery bristled, the bad feeling his gut suddenly returning, though he could not dwell on it for long. The soldiers from X-0 signaled to the platform. Belgar nodded, then turned to address the observers. “Esteemed guests, if you would so kindly put on your goggles. They are not exactly the most comfortable, but this test will produce quite the blinding light.”

There was a shuffling from the crowd as they fixed the black protective goggles to their face. Only Belgar and Saeoth remained uncovered, but the doctor was too focused to notice the discrepancy. Satisfied, he continued, “This is the ninetieth trial of the R* series, produced with help of Von Bismarck.” A representative of the corporation offered a smile of acknowledgment. Belgar then motioned with his hand to Montgomery, “Of course, I also cannot forget to thank the Lord Commissar for providing the facility.” With formalities out of the way, he turned back to the rocket and signaled to the men on the launchpad.

They hastily unhooked the final tubes, and vacated the area. It was silent for only a moment before a voice began counting down over the camp’s megaphone. The thrusters beneath the rocket sputtered to life, glowing a vibrant blue beneath the warm sun. The Emperor leaned forward with anticipation.

The voice reached zero and smoke began to rise up from the launchpad. The thrusters sparked, a blue fire shooting into the ground and kicking up a cloud of smoke. Yet the rocket went nowhere. An awkward silence befell the crowd, before a deafening explosion shocked them. The rocket exploded on the launchpad, causing the snow in the surrounding radius to melt instantly and singeing the concrete beneath it. A gust of hot wind blew across the field, knocking over a few of the onlookers.

Montgomery remained upright, his coat whipping in the air. Once it was over, he ripped off his goggles and fumbled for the glasses clipped to his collar. He put them on and could only stare in shock at the remaining pile of wreckage and warped metal. His eyes darted to Belgar, whose face was expressionless, but his hand was noticeably shaking.

The doctor tried to speak, but he couldn’t get past a stammer. The Emperor merely shook his head, cutting off any intended excuse with a commanding, yet disappointed, tone. “I should not have to explain why this is unsatisfactory. Do I, Heinrich?”

Belgar fell silent, casting his eyes to the tip of his boot. Weakly, he said, “Your majesty, the formula was complete… There was no reason…” A paranoid thought crossed his mind, and he tried to mask the expression of realization as it came to him; it was becoming more than apparent he should not have trusted the Commissariat with his life’s work.

“Enough. I grow tired of excuses,” The Emperor said, almost sounding reconciliatory as he put both his hands together regally. “It’s time to let this one go. I need your talent elsewhere.” Belgar flinched, each word feeling like a knife being pushed into his stomach, but he remained quiet knowing there was nothing more to argue. His blood ran cold when the Emperor turned to face the Lord Commissar. “Your honesty is most commendable, York. The reports you provided did much to temper my expectations.”

Realizing he had been played, Montgomery twitched, shifting awkwardly under the monarch’s stern gaze. He knew the autocrat preferred to play his followers against each other, to prevent any power blocs from forming beneath him. It was a dangerous game, but it was one the Lord Commissar intended to win. Thinking on his toes, he said, “It was as I feared. With your permission, I would like to transfer this camp to Mustala to assist conventional rearmament.”

Belgar gritted his teeth, enraged by this betrayal, but the Emperor was more than satisfied with the change of tune. “Approved. However, we will need work out the finer details later.”

“Gentlemen. Please excuse me. I must collect my men,” Belgar said in nearly a whisper as he stepped away. He stuck his right hand into his coat, trying to at least save face with his exit.

The Emperor followed along with the cadre of other dignitaries. As everyone dispersed, Karl put a hand on his chin, whispering, “A mole certainly complicates a few things.”

A safe assumption given the Emperor’s words, Saeoth on the other hand was more intrigued by the Lord Commissar who had successfully used the situation to secure himself. She moved her head to the left, “Friedhold should be informed. He will want to handle the breach personally.”

  
  


-

Following the disastrous rocket test, X-0 receded from its willingness to cooperate with other branches of the military, becoming incredibly insular. It operated independently of any direct oversight, remaining in contact with the Emperor alone. Belgar did, though, make a show of maintaining a professional correspondence between himself and Montgomery, who was too focused on the challenges facing the Empire to notice the chilling of relations: namely, the delicate process of vetting his men to find who was leaking internal memos to the Emperor.

Certainly, the occasional concerning reports about the science division floated to the top of the stack on his desk, but Montgomery never acted on the information. Some part of him was willing to trust that his comrade would eventually accept the failure, and perhaps even learn from it. There were simply more pressing concerns than the potential of a rogue unit; a string of new terror attacks targeting train stations had shaken the Imperial population to its core.

Yet despite the siege mentality that gripped the Empire, Montgomery himself remained confident that his own moral conviction would ensure no harm ever came to him. This arrogance was a nightmare for Commissar Ludwig, who had been tasked with keeping the Lord Commissar safe. To the citizens of Schwartzgrad, however, his willingness to leave his lofty office and risk the streets alone was a source of great admiration.

It was no surprise that one evening he dismissed his loyal bodyguard early and, ignoring Karl’s protests and concerns over a potential conspiracy against him, Montgomery set out on his routine walk. His commitment, no matter how irrational, was an expression of undying love for the city. He could never tread her streets with fear in his heart, no matter how justified it may be. And it was this unyielding pride that led him to stride down the front steps of the Commissariat’s headquarters alone, not noticing a stranger in his city step out from the dark of the alleyway nearby. Unexceptional was the man, with a thick brown mustache and vest, as he kept an unassuming pace behind the Lord Commissar.

Montgomery’s route was a simple lap through the heart of the city. Soon he stood at the edge of Arch Plaza, taking a few minutes to appreciate the hustle of everyday life. Banners of red and gold fluttered in the evening breeze, breaking up the steely grey cobblestone and taupe brickwork. He heard the hum of engines approach, and watched several trucks follow the roundabout before puttering off to the military district. People were meandering about as the workday was nearing its end; citizens perused local merchants, others wandering down to the Yggdist cathedral. He passed by a single soldier sitting on the steps of a building, his steel helmet resting next to his leg. He nodded to the Lord Commissar, who gave a short wave as he passed. All the while, the stalker made sure to keep a healthy distance, watching the black-plumed Crow as he moved through the crowd.

“Oh, Lord Commissar York!” a shrill voice called out, caused Montgomery to stop. A dark-skinned older woman emerged from one of the small shops that lined the roundabout. Beaming, she rushed across the sidewalk toward him. Her white apron was dusted in several shades of powders, though her face was clear and bright.

He tipped the brim of his cap. “Please, Romina, you are acting like you didn’t see me yesterday.” He had earned the favor of many of the middle-class shopkeepers within Schwartzgrad by intervening on their behalf against the well-entrenched nobility that owned the majority of the property in the city. In her case, he had persuaded the ministry of interior to allow an extension on her rent payments. She’d been endeared to the man ever since, and like many others, treated him like one of their own.

Romina was smiling ear to ear. “And you look just as good as you did then. ” She was unbothered by his power over life in the Empire and patted his chest like a mother worried that her son wasn’t eating enough. “You did eat my casatelles, I hope.”

“My good lady, of course,” Montgomery said, faking offense, though truthfully he had found the desert too sweet. Luckily, Karl and Friedhold were quick to take them off his hands. “They were beyond exquisite. I made sure to send your name to a few of my comrades.” He leaned in, lightheartedly adding, “So if you see any nobles poking around who seem a little full of themselves, just know it’s because you’re an incredible chef.”

“Thank you, Lord Commissar York. I will be sure to warn my husband,” Romina said, overjoyed to have more wealthy patrons sent her way. In a quick hand motion, she stuffed a piece of paper with a list of names into his jacket pocket.

Montgomery nodded a second time, then gave his farewell. “I would love to stay and chat, but I’m afraid I do have a few obligations I cannot afford to ignore any longer.”

“Of course. Our motherland is lucky to have such a dedicated public servant,” Romina said, stepping aside to allow him to continue on his walk. “Please do stop by sometime when you’re not quite so busy. Let us treat you to dinner.”

“Hmm. I will do my best to make time—our Empire is a harsh taskmaster,” Montgomery offered, bowing respectfully in her direction.

His path was wide, taking him all the way to the outskirts of the city. While the nobility often did their best to avoid looking at the poverty that plagued the most vulnerable of the Empire, the Lord Commissar believed it was his duty to experience it first hand. After all, the people were the greatest resource the country could offer.

The noise of Arch Plaza soon faded and the roads slowly fell from well-worn into disrepair. Potholes and cracks marring the streets did much to take away from the beauty of Schwartzgrad. Montgomery was not frightened, though, as many of the sheltered wealthy patrons of the city might be if they found themselves alone in the lower-class districts. He struck up a tune, whistling as he headed down the sidewalk. He passed by several taverns who were only just beginning their day, and even passed a brothel where many service men liked to visit while waiting to get shipped out. Run-down housing dotted the streets, some looking mostly uninhabited with boarded windows and cracked foundations, despite Montgomery knowing they were very much lived in. Though it was marginally better, they reminded him of the rundown townhouse he lived in, back in Castledon.

Ahead of him he could see a beggar: a disheveled middle-aged man with a patchy, unkempt beard. His ragged gray fatigues suggested he had once been part of a light rifle squad during the first war. He was leaning heavily on a crude crutch, since his left pant leg was rolled up to the stump stopping just above where his knee should have been.

As he approached, Montgomery reached into his jacket for a metal flask. The impoverished soldier, noticing him, tried to stand at attention. He would have saluted, but his right arm was missing as well. Instead, he held his chin up respectfully. “Lord Commissar!”

Montgomery came to a stop and shook his head. “Please. The formalities are really unnecessary.” He offered the flask to the man, who took it from him gratefully. York asked, “Have you considered my offer, Corporal Dobroslav?”

Dobroslav brought the flask to his lips, drinking greedily at the vodka within. It dribbled down his chin, and after a few seconds, he sat back with a satisfied sigh. “I have, but still don’t get why you want someone as pathetic as me working as a secretary.”

Montgomery frowned, offended by the soldier’s self-loathing. “Because you have served our motherland, and now it's time for her to serve you. Not a single one of her sons are disposable,” he spoke earnestly.

Dobroslav paused, tightly holding onto the flask, almost choking up. He suppressed the feeling and tapped his crutch against the ground, “Your words mean a lot, Lord Commissar. But I can’t walk. You would be better off asking someone who is more capable.”

“I don’t want someone more able-bodied. I am asking you,” Montgomery answered curtly, not willing except no as an answer. “It’s an easy job. Just answering the phone and organizing paperwork.” He stuck a finger out toward the stump, “Do not let this limit you. Surely your family’s newest edition deserves a safer place to grow up.”

Dobroslav paused, his cracked lips almost quivering both out of sentimentality and fear at the fact he never actually mentioned his new daughter to the Lord Commissar. He remained silent at first, mulling over the offer again. He finally relented, shoulders relaxing. “Okay. I think I could handle paperwork and calls.”

“Most excellent, comrade,” Montgomery said, removing the glove on his hand before offering it. They shook, and he continued, “Tomorrow morning, a Commissar will come by to go over some specifics of the job.” He gestured with his head, “Still down the street, correct?”

“Yeah… Just over…” Dobroslav started to point, and stopped short. “Well, I suppose I don’t have to tell you.”

Montgomery shrugged and vaguely said, “Information is our job.” He politely bid the corporal farewell and left. He had one last place he wanted to stop before returning to the Commissariat. As a long-time patron of Schwartzgrad’s enormous library, he began to walk the loop to return to the middle-class district to visit the former head librarian.

He would not make it to his destination. The Lord Commissar hesitated at the entrance of one of the city’s many alleyways, debating on taking a shortcut. A sudden _click_ interrupted his thoughts; with a start, he spun on his heel, reaching out without hesitation. York’s hand landed on the barrel of the pistol, and with both men startled by the quick reaction, they wrestled for the weapon.

Montgomery jerked the assassin’s gun down, and a shot rang out. It pierced his upper thigh, tearing through the flesh and muscle, shattering his femur and remaining lodged in his leg. His mind took seconds to catch up to what was happening, and before he realized it, he was on the ground. A blinding pain bloomed from his leg, and he clutched at his thigh with a cry, feeling warm blood already beginning to stain his hands.

He jerked his head up to face his assailant, eyesight blurry with enraged tears. With crazed eyes, he spat out his only demand. “Go on, then! Claim your victory! You will not leave me like this!” He bit his tongue to stop himself from groaning, the pain clouding his thoughts.

The assassin took aim again, this time ensuring he would not miss. Montgomery grit his teeth, meeting the man’s eyes with a snarl. He pulled the trigger.

_Click_ . In what could only be described as a cosmically bad joke, the gun jammed. As though fate mocked the Lord Commissar, reminding him he was still trapped in its twisting machinations. Even in this state, he could only think of the misgivings. _A lone gunman? What a miserably inefficient method, the animals!_

The cruelty of such an idea was impossible to accept. Montgomery screamed, “You utter incompetent! Reload it!” He angrily slammed his fist into the stone, knuckles grinding against the pavement. He was in no capacity to take advantage of the situation; it was a struggle to attempt to stand, and though it was futile, his movements caused the assassin to panic while trying to reload.

Another shot echoed, and to Montgomery’s shock, his assailant crumpled to the pavement. He stared at the body in shock and horror, realizing he would not be granted death as he’d desired. He jerked his head, attempting to catch a glimpse of whoever had intervened. The motion caused his head to spin, his vision fading to white as he slipped into unconsciousness.

-

“Is that all you can do?” A familiar disembodied voice floated from above, echoing around his skull.

Montgomery felt hands rub against his upper thigh, like jagged shards of glass being pressed into his tender flesh. He stifled the urge to cry out while another, more hoarse voice snapped back, exasperated, “I am not a healer. My _abilities_ are more suited to concentrating pain then relieving it.”

There was a sudden warm numbing sensation that flowed around the spot where her hand rested against his thigh; though, where her hand met, the feeling was like knives raking his flesh. Dazed, he pushed against the cot blindly, causing it to squeak. “Ugh…” he groaned, mind hazy, though the movement made him suddenly aware of just how much pain he was in. The image of what had transpired flickered through his mind like a stereoscope. A gnawing rage crawled up his throat, and he could only manage an undignified whine.

The voices above him must’ve noticed he was awake; he recognized the gravelly voice as Saeoth, as she leaned in close, rasping into his ear, “Lord of Crows… our work has yet to be concluded.” As soon as she moved her hand, the sharp stabbing receded, leaving only a dull hum of warmth. “It is time to wake. A true lord doesn’t cower from fate’s clenched fist.”

Her command caused Montgomery’s eyes to open. He was met by two blurry figures in the room: one hazy and white, perched above his bed; the other tucked in the corner, draped in shadow, with a faint glow near his head. The rich aroma of tobacco permeated throughout the room.

Instinctively, he groped around for his glasses, until they were pushed into his hand by Saeoth. Trying to avoid looking down, he put them on and blinked until his vision cleared. He noticed, abashedly, the feeling of dried tears on his face. His gaze turned to the corner of the room as the other voice spoke up. “Thank the Emperor…” Karl muttered, relief obvious in his voice.

“Hardly... You should be thanking me,” Saeoth said harshly, taking a step back from the bed, studying her right hand. Normally covered by bandages, the crystallized blue protrusions that jutted outward from her torn, blister-ridden skin were on full display. Unfazed by the sight, she drug her hand down her arm, cracking off several shards. They fell to the floor, tinkling like glass.

Montgomery remained silent, feeling like the whole room was spinning. As the feeling of vertigo settled, it was quickly replaced by a hollow ache in his stomach. Sheepishly, Karl walked over, head hung low as he couldn’t bear to look at the man he was responsible for protecting. “Lord Commissar… My deepest apologies. I failed you—”

“The fault is my own, Ludwig. I flagrantly ignored your concerns,” Montgomery cut him off, unable to handle his subordinate’s guilt on top of his own distress. He finally let his gaze wander down, stopping at the white bandage wrapped tight around his leg. The dressing couldn’t hide the deep red bruising peeking out around the edges. He stared at it, mind filled with the humiliating fantasies of how this injury may haunt him. “How grotesque…“

Karl shifted awkwardly, watching York out of the corner of his eye. He hadn’t left the man’s side since the incident. The images of the proud, unshakable Lord Commissar in his mind, and the frail gentleman swathed in hospital blankets was difficult to reconcile. It was something he had naively hoped to never see.

He took a deep breath and spoke quietly, “It was still my failure, sir. I will accept whatever punishment you feel is appropriate.”

Shaking his head slowly, Montgomery curled his hand into a fist. “Enough, Karl!” His bodyguard fell silent. He pursed his lips, trying to calm himself before he spoke, but his voice still came out in a quiver. “I want names.”

“Friedhold should have them soon,” Saeoth answered, distractedly clawing at her bloody, scarred skin.

She only stopped the excoriation as she picked off the last shard of crystal like a scab; a faint blue haze flickered from the torn skin to address her wounds, but the healed tissue that remained was pockmarked and flushed a mottled red. She grimaced, as if disgusted, and quickly pulled a glove on. “Rest for now, Lord of Crows. This is merely a temporary setback”

“No,” Montgomery responded stubbornly, foolishly attempting to leave his bed. He didn’t get very far; he only managed to lift his leg slightly before a screaming pain shot up past his knee, and it made his teeth ache. He tried again with a different, albeit equally agonizing, approach. His knuckles were white where the gripped the frame of the bed, as he pushed himself upright and tried to pivot off the bed with his waist.

“Sir, please. You will make it worse,” Karl said, attempting to get York to lay back down. The two struggled as Saeoth watched with a distant amusement.

“Unhand me, Ludwig!” Montgomery said, pushing him away, as he managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed. He clambered up before almost immediately collapsing back down, and Karl attempted to politely but firmly keep him on the bed. The scene was interrupted by the door swinging open. Friedhold walked in, small notebook in hand, but paused at the scene. He raised an eyebrow at Saeoth, who merely shrugged, then loudly cleared his throat. “Monty.”

Montgomery stopped his petulant resistance and looked to Friedhold. Despite his calm tone, his comrade could see him sweating from the effort to stand. “Ah, Varrick. Please tell me you have something,” York asked, slightly out of breath.

“Unfortunately, Volker got a little overzealous before we could get a complete list. But the traitor was quick to part with plenty of names,” Friedhold answered, holding up the small black book in his hand. “It would seem this plot has been a long time coming. Recent reforms to our Commissariat’s structure have upset quite a few of our more…” He coughed dryly, “ _Affluent_ families.” Karl pursed his lips thoughtfully, making an odd face. Friedhold continued to talk, “As you were aware, we caught wind of other conspiracies against us… Especially you.”

“Because our detractors naively believe a single person drives change,” Montgomery grumbled, acknowledging in his head that his current state was his own fault. “I just assumed those yowling wolves would be able to grasp the simple fact that moderate reforms serve to strength our motherland against outside threats.” He held out a hand out and pointed to the documents in Friedhold’s hand. “Bring those here.”

His subordinate handed over the signed confession and Montgomery began to skim through the pages. Saeoth moved over to the room’s window and looked out at the street below. She quietly murmured under her breath, watching as a person sprinted across the sidewalk. “They have grown accustomed to the rot and believe from it they derive their power. Miserable fools.”

“We can capitalize on their failure though. If we act quickly,” Karl said, recognizing an opportunity to put the screws to the Commissariat’s opponents. “A few high profile arrests could allow us to remind them that the rule of law must be upheld regardless of class.”

“That presumes our dear Emperor will choose to remain idle,” Friedhold said, glancing at the Lord Commissar, whose color was draining out of his already pallid face as he read. “A few members of his majesty’s extended family were involved… I think it's safe to conclude that he was at least aware of a plan.”

Montgomery could hear them talking, but he could no longer focus on the information in front of him. Assassinations were common in Imperial politics—a deeply ingrained cultural tradition. Yet the sheer amount of high ranking officials implicated was enough to make him feel faint. He knew his radicalism had caused waves of distress throughout the whole of the stagnant autocracy, but part of him had guilelessly hoped they would see reason. He was also considering the possibility that the names were provided at random in a desperate bid to end the torture; he knew Volker’s methods. But he also knew the kind of people he was dealing with.

“Monty… That’s not all,” Varrick said, ripping the Lord Commissar from his brooding and causing him to look up.

Montgomery could easily read his comrade’s face, having worked together for years. He could tell he wasn’t going to like whatever he was about to be told. He sighed. “What else?”

Friedhold scratched his cheek awkwardly. Now the other two were looking at him as well. Saeoth’s red eyes in particular created a feeling of dread hanging over his head. “Volker is of the opinion that your would-be assassin was a member of X-0.”

Montgomery blinked, stunned by the suggestion. The paper in his hands crumpled in his grip. “That… That is a serious allegation. I trust he has proof.”

“On your attacker’s person, we discovered two vials of unknown contents. Volker tasted it and concluded it was synthetic, although he doesn’t know its intended purpose,” Friedhold started to explain, having been personally taken aback by the torturer’s willingness to drink from the suspicious purple vial. He continued, already able to see how poorly his friend was going to take the news. “I don’t need to tell you that bio-weapons are strictly X-0’s jurisdiction… So from there I checked the pistol itself. While it was unmarked, I compared it to those issued to X-0 marines. The internals are identical, and the experimental barrel leads me to believe that this was a test in itself. Which might explain why it jammed, sparing your life.”

“I… see,” Montgomery muttered. The news settled heavily on his mind, then ignited into indignant rage, quashing his previously calm demeanor. He tossed the folder at the wall and shouted, “That spineless coward! Is this how you throw away your comrades, Heinrich?!” He tried to stand again, arms trembling from the effort. “That son of a bitch is going to regret failing to kill me!”

Karl rushed over once more, firmly gripping Montgomery’s shoulders. “Sir!”

The two struggled, but this time, Montgomery shoved him back. Karl, unwilling to push the already injured man too far, hesitated to restrain him. Passionately,s York declared, “This goes far beyond treason! These parasites should be cut out from our Empire’s heart!”

“Then what is your decree… Lord of Crows?” Saeoth said, cutting short his declaration as she twisted to face them; the three men had almost forgotten she was present. She stared at York, red eyes staring through him. “Your enemies… _and_ former comrades have invoked your wrath. Only through their deaths can justice be done.”

Montgomery fell silent, seeing the monster that lurked within the valkyria’s calm, cold demeanor. If it were up to her, the entire city would be turned red with blood. He slowly relaxed, settling back onto the bed and exhaled loudly. “My decree? We will…” The room grew quiet as he weighed every possible path in front of them. His comrades waited with baited breath for his response. Resolutely, he settled on two simple words. “Do nothing.”

An anticlimactic answer; only Karl seemed relieved by the idea his friend was willing to see reason. Saeoth reared her head back, disappointed. “Hmm?”

“My Commissariat… will not stoop to the level of the maggots eating away the heart of our Empire.” Montgomery said, speaking in a clear and measured tone. He glanced at Friedhold. “Isn’t that what we agreed, Varrick? Our loyalty is to the people, to the nation. Only by putting ourselves second to their needs can we properly care for both.”

Friedhold nodded slowly, putting a hand on his chin. “Yes, I agree. Hurting our motherland on the precipice of war can only bring harm to our countrymen. The hammer of justice is merciless. Heaven itself will fall when it finally comes down upon those who weaken us.”

Seeing Saeoth was unsatisfied by their agreement, Montgomery directed a hand to his leg. “I am just a man. This is a badge of honor, earned in the line of duty. Thus, there is no reason to be provoked. We must use this opportunity to secure our Commissariat.”

Saeoth started to smirk, a slight glow forming around her. “You speak like a true Lord… Now it is time to ensure the rest bow before you.” She walked over to the bed a few feet from the Lord Commissar and continued, “No more mistakes can be made. We must wipe the ranks clean of all who harbor loyalties outside of your Commissariat. Let the aristocracy tremble at the volume of blood spilled, for we will show them their future.”

Her words were spoken with an alien malice, and Montgomery felt a chill wash over him. He shivered, remembering the first time he had experienced such unease around the valkyria. But he was already prepared to do the unthinkable—something he had stopped short of doing after seizing power from Foka. A smile came to his lips, and he pushed up his glasses with two fingers. “Be merciless.”

“That is a given,” Saeoth said with an unnerving smile, making for the door. She reached out, almost putting a hand on Friedhold’s shoulder, though he recoiled away. “You have the roster, no? Come.” Friedhold saluted Montgomery with a fist over his heart, and they left.

Montgomery groaned after the door clicked shut, sinking lower as fatigue finally settled in. He leaned back against his pillow, before a thought occurred to him. He looked over. “Oh… Ludwig.”

Karl offered a non-committal smile, leaning forward slightly. “Do you have orders for me?”

“I want a cigarette,” Montgomery said dryly, having to reflect on his unfortunate change of circumstance. Particularly, the tragic fact that his closest friend had been involved with trying to kill him in such a brazen and pointless manner. It was almost impossible to consider.

Relieved the request was a simple one, Karl quickly fished out two packs from his inner coat pocket and held them both up. “Which would you prefer?”

“Please… I am in a state of distress,” Montgomery replied, pointing at the light blue box, engraved with the golden lion: a symbol of Edinburgh. “Our Empire makes many fine things, but right now I would prefer the comforts of the isles.”

Karl gave him a confused expression, not entirely following the logic, but dutifully pocketed the other packet and carefully tapped out a cigarette. He offered it to Montgomery, who leaned off the bed to take it. The Lord Commissar waited patiently as his subordinate flicked open his lighter, holding it up to the tip. “Is it satisfactory, sir?”

Montgomery took an incredibly long drag and fell back onto the pillow. He exhaled through his nose before replying, “Exquisite, Ludwig. I will consider this your apology for not making a more convincing argument this morning.” When Karl made no move to have a seat, and instead continued to stand awkwardly, he asked, “Have you forgotten how to relax? Sit.”

“Ah. Right away, sir,” Karl said, grabbing one of the chairs in the corner of the room and carrying back to the side of Montgomery’s bed.

“And drop the bloody formalities. I believe this unfortunate situation counts as being off-duty.” Montgomery said, already finding himself weary of the cracked white walls of the room.

Karl scratched his beard, debating if he wanted to have another smoke. “We can be off-duty?”

“You wound me,” Montgomery said jokingly, taking another long puff. He watched the smoke drift upward thinking. “So, Heinrich… this is how you have chosen to dispose of me… Rather laughable, truthfully. Perhaps next time, send someone who can shoot straight.”

Karl lit a cigarette of his own from the Imperial brand pack, and clasped his hands together. On a base level, he was relieved that the doctor had finally revealed his true colors, but on the other, he could see the distress the betrayal was causing the Lord Commissar. “If it’s all the same, sir, let me say—“

Montgomery silenced him with a wave, shockingly calm despite the slight tremor to his hand. “Whatever it is, dear Ludwig, save it for another time.” He took the cigarette from his mouth, blowing some smoke through his nostrils. “I now know where things stand. He was always such a sensitive man, you know?”

“There is more than one way to get even with Heinrich,” Karl commented, his own desire for revenge becoming apparent. “Might I suggest the revocation of X-0’s first choice on laborers? Along with the expulsion of any scientist still working within our camps.”

Montgomery considered it, staring forward wordlessly. He rubbed his cheek, trying to keep his attention focused elsewhere. “Yes. That will do. Confiscate anything left behind. Volker will know what to do.”

Karl fished a notebook from his inner pocket along with a pen and scratched down the order. Once finished, he asked, “Revenge aside… How are you feeling?”

It was a casual question, spoken between comrades. Montgomery’s face softened, and he tugged his glasses from his face, placing them neatly atop his good leg. “I can only hope that I am granted a chance to die in the service of our Motherland. Living like this is… unfortunate.”

Karl winced at the statement; he could tell there was much more festering inside him than his statement suggested. Even though death was an expected sacrifice for the Commissars, he was unsure how to console the man. He paused thoughtfully before finally responding, “Perhaps instead of dying, you call it a war injury and collect a stipend from the Ministry of Veterans Affairs. Who knows? They may give you a medal.”

Montgomery snorted, cracking a faint smile. “Oh please, Ludwig. Medals are such eyesores, worn only by men with no other accomplishments to be proud of.” He shook his head. “Besides, could you imagine? A Commissar would be on _my_ doorstep to investigate the validity of my claims.”

“I will do my best to be fair, Lord Commissar.” Karl said leaning back his seat and crossing his legs.

“You better. I pay your salary,” Montgomery said before taking another long drag off his cigarette. “Ludwig…”

“Yes?” Karl asked, shifting back to his serious demeanor.

Montgomery shut his eyes, leaning into the pillow, “I am grateful to have such a steadfast comrade by my side. It has been a long road, and now it seems all but certain that fate intends for me to see it through.”

“There are far worse ends than following you into oblivion, comrade,” Karl replied, resolute. His serious demeanor slowly morphed into a faint smile. “Though it would be easier if you would heed my warnings.”

“Rest assured, I have learned that lesson. Doubly so—I will be trusting your gut from now on,” Montgomery said, opening his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he clapped his hand together and changed the subject. “But right now I am absolutely famished. Could you see if there is anything to eat in this depressing facility?”

“I am on it,” Karl said, already heading for the door. He paused, returning to the bed to unholster his pistol, and offered it. “I am trusting you to only use this self-defense, Monty.”

“Not to worry. The feelings have passed at the moment,” Montgomery assured him, taking the weapon. “But do hurry. I am not above holding a nurse at gunpoint to have something to eat. An assassination attempt does wonders for the appetite.”

“Right. No need to be so dramatic,” Karl said as he left.

The door shut behind him and Montgomery tried his best to get more comfortable on the springy bed. It creaked obnoxiously, causing him to frown. He had grown used to his luxurious lifestyle; the prospect of spending weeks in a spartan recovery room was enough to nauseate him.

Eventually he managed to find a comfortable position and finished his cigarette, mulling over the endless thoughts in his mind. He certainly intended to remind all those named by his would-be assassin that there were far less overt methods to deal with political enemies.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every time I put together a fight scene, I am reminded that most of VC’s AI behavior amounts to just face-planting into interception fire. So let's just assume that's why every character in this battle and those coming forgets they have a gun most of the time.
> 
> Next update will be Saeoth's side story (very soon!) so we will see you then. Thanks for reading.

Trapped on the top floor of the listening post, a half-asleep Karl continued his monitoring of the preliminary talks with the delegation from the United States. He wasn’t sure how long it had been; a quick glance at the growing pile of cigarette butts in the ashtray near his hand indicated that several hours had passed.

  
  


Laura’s melodic voice certainly wasn’t helping his exhaustion, as she droned on about how a secret trade agreement between the two powers would be key in securing a favorable peace in the future. Karl rubbed his eyes and glanced around at the hazy cloud of smoke that had collected in the room. He considered opening a window, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to get up, instead sinking lower in the uncomfortable chair. He glanced at his blank notes, wracking his brain for a logical reason why Vinland would risk so much for a simple exchange of goods. He could only assume they could be playing for time, but for what reason was still a mystery.

A yawn escaped him as Catherine seemed to be rebuking the ambassador, astutely pointing out that the deal being proposed would leave the Empire drained of critical war resources. A panicked enforcer flung the door open, and Karl nearly jumped out of his chair, cigarette falling from his mouth. “Commissar Ludwig! There is a situation!”

Karl sighed and plucked his smoke from the ground, tossing it into the ashtray. “Lower your voice, man,” he ordered, then gestured for him to step forward. “Now. What has happened?”

The enforcer shifted uneasily. “Commissar Leopold was killed in an explosion several hours ago.”

No surprise at the delay, as infrastructure in the Far East kept information from coming in more immediately. “That is bad news,” he muttered, then glanced at the listening device, which was still running. “Take over for me.”

“Yes, Commissar,” The enforcer saluted as Karl left.

Karl headed down the hallway and took a left, where a rotary phone was mounted on the wall. He dialed the main office using a secret number, and waited. It rang twice before a man picked up, and quietly he said, “This is Karl Ludwig, acting on the authority of Lord Commissar York. I want a full update on the development in the East.”

Two clicks followed as the man on the other end of the line ensured their connection was secure. Once he was certain, the officer finally answered, “At the moment all we know is at 0700 hours, a bomb went off at Krimm’s rail depot. Commissar Leopold, along with several of his men, were killed in the subsequent blast.”

Karl hummed and pressed the bridge of his nose. “So the summer offensive has finally begun… Alright, issue a warning to all active units that the DLM has started to move again.” He paused, hearing the man on the other end scribbling a note. “If possible, get me Commissar Hedvig. She should have had enough time to set up a field office with a phone.”

“Yes, sir,” The man said, putting the call on hold.

-

Ethnic deportations were a common tactic for Imperial Commissars to maintain control over regions rife with national tensions. With a sizable Gallian minority, Eckholz had been on Klara’s list of towns that needed to be depopulated as the tide of war turned firmly against the Empire. She approached the monumental task with a notable lack of enthusiasm, ordering her men to be ruthless should any civilian resist being removed from their homes.

Her field office was set up on the second floor of the local government building that overlooked the town square below. Staring down from a dirty glass window, Klara watched as a line of enforcers shoved men and women into idling trucks. One suitcase was allowed per family, per orders that came from Montgomery’s office. It was a luxury she argued against, if time was of the essence; she strongly believed it was, considering the fires from Gallia were burning bright enough to bathe the town an ominous shade of orange, even at night.

Hand resting on the rapier’s golden hilt hanging loosely from the belt tied around her trenchcoat, Klara spoke, dismissively interrupting her assistant dryly reading from a list of confiscations. “Good work, Comrade Vitomir. Anything else valuable, ship it to headquarters for processing.”

“As you say, comrade,” Vitomir’s eyes flickered from where Klara was still posed at the window, to the paper in front of him, checking off each list quickly. He was a bespectacled man with a youthful face, green eyes and curly brown hair. His black coat poorly fit his thin frame, sleeves nearly covering his hands as he wrote. He had served The Hammer since her appointment to the office of Commissar; he’d bore witness to what exactly the woman was capable of. Terror campaigns against the DLM in the East were enough to haunt his dreams, not to mention the breaking of Fhirald.

Klara’s next question was expected. “How many have refused to leave?”

“About fifty,” Vitomir responded flatly, knowing exactly what was coming next.

Without hesitation, Klara ordered with mild disdain, “Hang them. Make sure the Gallian Army is greeted by their corpses.”

“Right away. Please excuse me,” Vitomir replied, exiting through the door behind him.

Finally alone, Klara relaxed, walking back over to her temporary desk. There were only a few things scattered across it: a handful of orders bearing her crude signature, a drawing of a Darcsen woman named Lowe who’d been reported by a farmer as being the new leader of the DLM, and a half-empty bottle of red wine. Klara picked up the bottle and took a swig without reaching for a glass.

The phone rang, causing her to twitch. She reached over, wrapping a hand around the receiver but letting it ring twice before finally picking up. “Hedvig.”

“Klara, it’s me,” Karl’s voice filtered through, and she could easily hear the fatigue in his tone.

She knew of only one reason he would bother calling her—Klara cut straight to the chase, crassly saying, “That pompous fool got himself killed, didn’t he?”

Karl didn’t respond for a moment, surprised she guessed correctly. He finally responded, “Yes. Leopold is dead. There was a bombing.”

Unbothered, Klara clicked her tongue. “Serves him right. His head was too far up his own ass to listen to a single word I said.” Leopold had been one of several men within the Commissariat who took great offense to the idea women held positions above his own. Not to mention the fact that Klara was lowborn and wouldn’t have been fit to shine his boots under normal circumstances. Sitting on top of her desk, she crossed her legs and leaned forward. “What about follow up attacks? Those dark hairs never hit just once.”

“No other reports so far,” Karl said, sounding distracted. “As per your own observations, it could be a cell acting alone.”

Klara read the label on the bottle in her other hand. “It's possible. Especially if there is an internal struggle underway.” She had noticed a change in methodology earlier that year when the guerrillas holed up in their mountain commune.

“Regardless. I am redeploying you back to the East. We cannot allow this transgression to go unpunished,” Karl said, shifting into a commanding tone he often used when Montgomery was busy.

Klara groaned, audibly rolling her eyes, “Right.” She was incredibly frustrated with having to return East already. Uncrossing her legs, she slid off the desk, walking back to the window, stretching out the phone cord. “I will be blunt with you, Ludwig. If that is where I am needed, I will go, but…” She paused, fixing her stare on the orange haze. “I want the restrictions on K-class weapons lifted.”

“That is a… hefty request,” Karl said, hesitant to give an answer without clearing it with the Lord Commissar. The usage of chemical weapons was banned by international treaty.

“York and I have already discussed it. I will remind you as well, that pointless document only forbids the usage of gas weaponry in active conflicts.” Klara recounted simply, resting her boot on the window’s seal. “We are putting down a rebellion. Let’s use this to send a message to the Fhiraldians as well. They are getting restless.”

“Once York is free, I’ll speak to him,” Karl said, giving a non-committal answer. He couldn’t sign such a directive anyway.

“That’s not all,” Klara said, leaning into her boot and stretching her leg. “I am of the opinion that Eckholz will soon be a frontline city. I have instructed my men to prepare what defenses they can before we depart…” She paused, tapping her finger against the receiver. “Prince Maximilian’s troops are demoralized and wholly unprepared for an offensive on the scale he has planned. It’ll be nothing short of a slaughter. It goes without saying that whoever takes over from here should be cleared to set up what heavy weapons we have in storage.”

“Troubling analysis,” Karl commented. She couldn’t see him run a hand through his beard thoughtfully, but she could imagine it with the pause he took. “Alright. I will take that under consideration.” He hung up abruptly, and Klara sighed, pushing off from the window. She returned the phone and finished the rest of the wine in one quick swig.

-

While Karl was trying to gain an understanding of the current situation in the East, Montgomery was doing his absolute best to maintain his detached demeanor in the face of the man sitting on the other side of the conference table. His thoughts were a jumbled mess of theorizing, inconsolable rage and muted curiosity at what Belgar hoped to gain by revealing himself so dramatically.

Fortunately these feelings served as a useful distraction considering the meeting itself was barely even worth his attention. The whole charade had been little more than an exhausting show of unnecessary flattery and banal appeals to egos. Despite having been sitting there for nearly four hours, Montgomery hadn’t the slightest clue what the Vinnish were hoping to achieve. His leg was starting to ache horrifically and every few minutes he attempted to adjust it into a more comfortable position.

Even Catherine, a stoic woman by status, was having difficulty hiding her exasperation. She was massaging her temple, listening to Laura drone on about recent Imperial Navy violations of several trade zones in the Far East. Once she had finished her speech, the Empress replied, “We are at war, Mrs. Ingelheim. I am apologetic about the loss of your cruiser, but I do not think a transgression from a year ago was the intended purpose of this meeting.”

Montgomery leaned over, whispering into her left ear. “Reports indicate the ship was protecting a convoy transporting arms and munitions to several undisclosed naval bases.”

Catherine nodded, placing her hand on the table, revealing an impressive set of gold rings. Laura’s eyes were drawn to the ornate engraved eagle on the Empress’s right ring finger. Ambassador Olaf cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention, and said, “Might I propose a recess? I believe we have made plenty of progress for today.”

Herbert spoke quietly to Marcus, who removed his glasses, wiping the lens with his sleeve before returning them to his face. At the same time, Laura passed a note to Belgar, who had been sitting quietly the entire meeting, before she spoke, “We agree, Ambassador. This has been enlightening. I need some time to update my superiors so we can continue.”

“Then let us adjourn,” Catherine said, clapping her hands together once. She stood gracefully, smoothing out her dress. “Sir Black, if you would?”

“Of course, your majesty,” Montgomery said, slowly getting up. He cast a sideways glance at Belgar, who smiled warmly. The Lord Commissar moved to the door, holding it open for her with an overacted wave as she exited as regally as she entered. He lingered in the doorway, giving a formal bow before he left. “A pleasure.”

Outside, he walked next to Catherine as she headed over to the staircase, leading to the second floor of the embassy. Pausing, she said, “I am anxious to hear your thoughts about our… wayward comrade’s return.”

“A vile fiend. Give the word and I will have him detained,” Montgomery said, his anger getting the better of him.

“And cause a diplomatic incident?” Catherine asked, putting her hand on the wooden railing as they walked up it. “Seriously, York. Heinrich is a non-issue at the moment.” She tapped her fingers. “At his age, I am sure he is bound to have an unfortunate fall, sooner rather than later…”

“…That could be arranged,” Montgomery said quietly, although he hadn’t the slightest idea as to how to approach the logistic issue posed by killing someone in the United States. “We still do not know what this delegation is trying to achieve… To flaunt a defector so _brazenly_ is, well…”

“Certainly an unorthodox approach,” Catherine finished his sentence as they reached the top of the stairs. The Empress turned, pausing to look down at the lobby. She watched Olaf exchange pleasantries with Lura and Marcus, while Herbert walked back to his room. “There is a dangerous game at work here. They are probing us.”

Montgomery tapped his cane in thought, but his mind was drawing a blank. “No doubt more will become clear tomorrow. This is an awfully extravagant charade to just go home empty-handed.”

He heard the sound of someone approaching; from the corner of his eye he spotted Ulyana. She gave a stilted bow and said, “Empress. We are ready for you.”

Catherine smiled coyly. “Excellent.” She gave a slight nod and said, “Excuse me, Sir Black. I absolutely must freshen up.”

Montgomery grunted, and the two left him. He stood in silence, debating his next move. He eventually decided to go check and see if Karl had managed to pick up anything that might be of use. Exiting the lobby, he was soon standing outside at the back of the embassy.

He unlatched the gate leading into the alley and froze, a recognizable deep voice causing him to tense. “Ah, Sir Black—just the man I was hoping to speak to.” The Lord Commissar spun around to see the doctor sitting on a bench in the shade. Belgar stood, taking time to adjust his collar before approaching.

Montgomery’s eyes narrowed intensely and he pushed down on his cane, forcing a neutral tone. “Me? How may I be of service?”

A condescending smile was plastered on Belgar’s face. His arms were folded neatly behind his back, and despite the haircut and change in clothes, his presence was still painfully, irritatingly familiar. Heinrich spoke after a moment, “Well, you see, I am most interested in Imperial history. At the risk of sounding brash, I was wondering—does your family hold land in this city, or perhaps elsewhere?”

Montgomery hesitated, debating which of his carefully crafted lies he wanted to use. Finally he opted for the most obscure one. “Our lands are to the South. We own several vineyards and have been in service to the Emperor since my great grandfather’s estate fell within Imperial borders.”

The lie meant little to Belgar, and York could only assume the man was striking the conversation to uselessly frustrate him. And if he was, it was working. Belgar seemed to be barely hiding his amusement. “Vineyards? Really? I would have never guessed.” Ignoring the Lord Commissar’s glare, he changed the subject, motioning with his head toward the listening post across the alleyway. “Tell me, what purpose does that building serve? I have seen some rather seedy types going in, but no one ever comes out.”

“Servants quarters. They have a back exit to avoid being called when off-duty,” Montgomery answered sharply, having already anticipated the possibility someone might have a question about his staff. There was a silence, and he took a step back. “Why don’t you drop this absurd act, Heinrich? This game is tiring. What do you want?”

Belgar’s grey eyes were cold, but the smirk never left his face. He glanced back, checking if they were alone. “Act? Whatever do you mean, Sir Black? I am merely a curious man. This might be my one chance to appreciate the Empire’s culture.” He reached into his suit pocket and said, “Actually, that is a thought… Do you happen to know if Schwartzgrad’s legendary theater is still open to the public?”

“I doubt you are supposed to use your country’s resources to play tourist,” Montgomery stated, feeling a headache coming on.

“Oh, I will be using my own money,” Belgar said, insufferably smug as he revealed a small leather-bound notebook. “All things considered, I have a feeling that these talks are going to be rather lengthy.” He clicked a pen, writing something down before tearing out a page. “And I do consider myself a devoted patron of the arts.” He handed it over to Montgomery, who held the paper, but did not move to open it. “Just an idea… Anyways, if you will excuse me. I must go find my compatriots.” Belgar smoothly slid the notebook back into his suit and walked away. He paused, looking away. “Oh, and…” he seemed to hesitate, but pursed his lips and spoke before leaving, “Do stay safe. Going down with the ship is so cliche.”

Montgomery bristled, pushing his cane into a crack in the stones. He crumbled up the page, intending to toss it away—but his curiosity compelled him to read it. He smoothed it out and squinted at the Doctor’s notoriously bad handwriting:

_Tread carefully. For I have seen the future, and nothing will escape the cleansing power of the azure flame._

Montgomery scoffed at first, confident that his rival was lying. Although as he shoved the note into his pocket and pushed through the gate, he felt an uneasiness settle in the back of his mind.

-

The initial shelling of Lowerholm was cut short in a display of uncharacteristic restraint by Major-General Halvard. Not out of sentimentality for the city he grew up in, but rather to spare the enormous dockyards that served as the staging ground for the Imperial Navy’s submarines. Though it mattered little, as the first act of republican forces was to ensure that nothing of value would be left to the Empire. So when Ulf and his men finally broke through to the dockyard, all they found was the smoldering ruins of steel cranes, collapsed by explosives; the wreckage created an impassable barrier along the narrow street that ran parallel to the steep drop down to the pier.

After being spotted by a scout perched atop a nearby warehouse, VK had taken cover on a metal catwalk on the second floor. From her new position, she could maintain an arc of suppressing fire on the advancing loyalists, who were split between pushing down the street and advancing upon the dockyard itself.

Seeing the barrel of her machine gun starting to smoke, VK let out a frustrated huff. She quickly swapped it with the spare hang from her belt and pulled back the firing mechanism. Taking advantage of the opening, Ulf revealed himself. He belted out an Earth-shaking war cry as he and his marines charged forward, free of fear.

There was something admirable about such fanaticism; VK watched as they crashed like a ferocious wave into the first defensive line near her position. It was obvious the republican militias were out-matched, but the sight piqued her interest. She pulled the trigger, firing a burst into the warring field of men. Despite his size, Ulf responded with frightening agility, shoving an unfortunate militiaman in front of him before diving behind the smoldering wreckage of a light tank. A member of his squad fired two shots directed at where he’d seen VK’s muzzle flash, and she grunted in surprise. There was an intense pressure just below her left shoulder, which she only registered after a pause as a gunshot. The valkyria rolled over, putting the brick wall between her and the Imperials.

Unperturbed she looked down as a faint blue glow formed around her. There was a little bit of blood on her uniform, but the flesh underneath began to reform. Using her knife, VK stuck the tip into the wound and popped out the shell casing. It clinked against the grating she was sitting on and she leaned sliding her machine gun over. Knowing it was time to reposition, she stood and sprinted over to the ladder that connected to the bottom floor of the building.

Before she slid down it however her radio came to life and she heard Irving’s haggard voice filter through over heavy static. “Victoria … You there?”

Pausing VK held down the receiver hanging loosely around her neck and gave an affirmative grunt. An explosion was heard outside, and she watched as several wounded militiamen retreated into the warehouse. Irving spoke again. “I may have … underestimated the target.” He groaned, the sound of fabric being torn came through the mic. “Shit, that is a lot of blood… Hope that animal had her shots.” VK didn’t respond, choosing to let silence convey her concern. Using the pause she slid down the ladder hitting the ground effortlessly. “I am fine. Don’t need special regenerative powers with these hypos. Consider this a heads up—they might be coming your way. I’m gonna make some noise elsewhere. if you encounter them, just remember I need the blonde one alive.”

With that, he cut the line and VK lingered at the base of the ladder to double-check her weapon. Sliding it onto her shoulder, she sprinted over to a crate lit by a hole on the ceiling. An explosion shook the building as she popped the lid on it, revealing the special weapon inside. Attaching spiraled lance to the boxy frame with a distinctly loud click she felt now was the perfect time to test the STSE-0, her Stralrik.

-

Kriegstotcher stopped short of throwing themselves prematurely into the fray, despite Chiara and Fedor’s protests. Instead they moved to set up a firing line behind the loyalists, who were instructed to hold position. Scouts and snipers moved on top of nearby roofs to ensure they had a good view of the dockyard, where they were instructed to conceal their presence and wait for further instructions. It was decided due to her skill and size, Chiara would go alone to recon the area and locate Ulf.

Hidden inside the partially-collapsed rubble of what was once a served as a customs office, Nikola placed a map provided by Siegward on the table. It showed the various alleyways and streets that covered Lowerholm. She ground her teeth, trying her best to suppress the bubbling excitement about the coming operation. She tapped a finger on the building adjacent to their current position on the map. “This is where Captain Ulf last spotted our target. I should not have to stress how careful we need to be.” To emphasize her point, she borrowed her partner’s expression, motioning an explosion with her right hand. “Once we hit the valkyria, we cannot allow her even the possibility of using her final flame.”

“And if we keep the pressure on she shouldn’t be able to do that?” Siegward asked, watching her explain with a thoughtful frown on his face.

Nikola grimaced, her eyes flitting down. “Well… Theoretically.” She rubbed her arm awkwardly. “I think.”

“If we are speaking theoretically, then _theoretically_ I think the Lord Commissar owes me a raise,” Gunther said jokingly, thumping the brim of his cap but stopping short of removing it from his head. “Or at least some debt forgiveness.” His commander clicked her tongue in disapproval, and he quickly waved a hand, “All I mean is, as a betting man myself, I like to know the odds of success.”

Nikola stared across at him expressionless and dryly stated, “Our odds depend entirely on how she reacts to Motherland. Valkyria are… volatile.” She kept fiddling with her Dunkel as a way of concealing her unease about their current situation. Especially the fact that Chiara was in the field alone.

“Odds are irrelevant. Have faith that this creature can be felled,” Fedor interjected as he pushed off from the wall near the doorway, walking over to the rest of them.

His comment caused Sorina to scoff, disgusted. “Concepts of faith and odds are for the dead to consider.” She calmly leaned her rifle against the leg of the table. “Our target is nothing more than a beast without a soul… As such, if she intended to use her _final flame—”_ Her tone was harsh, mocking. “She would have already… No, I think it's safe to assume that this _valkyria_ lacks the ability or the will to destroy herself.” Nikola was about to ask how the sniper could be so sure, but Sorina shot a glance at Siegward and spoke again. “Agent Graf. I would like to propose an addendum to this plan.”

Nikola felt a wave of unease wash over her, crawling from the top of her head to her boot. She narrowed her eyes, guarded. “Oh, do you? And what would that be?”

Sorina gave a cold smirk at the girl’s annoyance. “Risking Motherland is foolish. I believe it would be better to use it for its intended purpose.”

“Which is?” Nikola pressed, her eyebrow twitching.

Siegward cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention, “I can field that. In accordance with the instructions of Commissar Ludwig, the Nord’s right to autonomy is hereby rescinded, and therefore we have no reason to spare their cities.” His gaze was drawn to Gunther, who was staring blankly down at his feet. “Lowerholm was partially destroyed once, but now it is clear that restraint was a mistake. We must finish the job and burn the rest.”

“And what good does that do for our present concern?” Nikola retorted, glaring at both of them. It was becoming increasingly obvious they were intentionally hiding something for the rest of the unit. She growled, “If this was Commissar Ludwig’s instructions, why wasn’t I informed?”

Neither Sorina nor Siegward answered. Instead, Gunther said, “Because… the rest of us didn’t need to know.” There was a slight tremble to his voice, clearly bothered by what was being advocated. “That is how the Commissariat operates.”

Nikola made a fist on the table, “But Chiara and I are in charge. Kriegstotcher is our responsibility.”

“Yes… Well,” Sorina started to speak, then paused, trying to choose her words carefully. Putting a bandaged finger on her cheek she continued, “Lets just say the Lord of Crows likes to make sure everything follows the _correct_ course. You and Agent Rocino are untested elements. Leverage can only go so far to ensure a plan is followed through.” She dug her nailed into the skin near her cracked lips, drawing blood. “In this case, I believe it would be better to use Motherland and order our engineers to burn this miserable city. Doing so will corner this Valkyria and ensure she dies here.”

Fedor tightened his grip on his machine pistol. Whatever he was thinking, it was unclear. All he said was, “I support this change of course. We must drive these invaders back through any means.”

Surprised by his attitude, Sorina nodded. “I am glad you are capable of being reasonable.”

Finally, though, unable to stay quiet any longer, Gunther exclaimed, “Are you guys insane!?” He looked around wildly, as if he were surrounded by strangers. “What good will come from destroying Lowerholm? The republicans are just going to fight harder!” His eyes stopped on Nikola and he pleaded, “Boss, please. I can’t burn my home.”

Before she could respond, Sorina took charge of the conversation. “Do not try to invoke her sympathy, Trofim. You are hardly a Nord, so do not pretend to care about these rebels.” She took a step back and slowly made her way around the table, expression morphing into something darker, gaze locked on Gunther like a laser sight. “Agent Graf was chosen because of her ability to follow orders.” She stopped right behind the girl, raspy voice close enough that it caused the hair on the back of Nikola’s neck to stand. “Her decision now will decide if she has any future usefulness within the Commissariat.”

Nikola froze in place, holding her breath. The sniper’s words raked across her mind like a knife, contorting her face into a pained expression. She wouldn’t survive messing up so disastrously, like she had with X-0. What would Belgar even say in this situation? The only thing her mind could conjure was the feelings, not the words—the pain, terror—and Chiara’s face. She was starting to regret letting Chiara go ahead alone.

Tightening her grip on the crossbow, Nikola chewed her cheek until she tasted iron. Maybe if anything, her partner would be overjoyed at the prospect of more destruction. At the very least, the idea of seeing her happy was enough for the stoic girl to finally nod. “Fine.” She looked up, noticing everyone watching her, but couldn’t quite meet Gunther’s gaze. “We will use Motherland to burn the city, while the rest of us keep the valkyria busy.”

“Boss!” Gunther protested immediately. “We can’t!”

He fell silent when Nikola interrupted him by kicking the table leg “Enough.” She pointed at him and continued, “We already talked about overthinking things. Chiara and I are still depending on you.” She cast a wary glance backward at the woman standing behind her before adding, “Promise me, Gunther, that you won’t let us down.”

Gunther noticed something different about her eyes, as he stared at her. They were more expressive than usual. He could tell that, in her own way, she was worried. He sighed, resting his hands in his coat pockets. “Alright, boss. As you said.”

Nikola relaxed her shoulders in relief and leaned her crossbow against her shoulder. “Then we have decided. Chiara and I will keep our target busy. Fedor and Gunther, you two will focus on burning Lowerholm.”

Cutting her off, Sorina stepped back to her rifle. “I will be sure to keep eyes on this abomination.”

Which left Siegward. He placed a hand on the hilt of his sword and said, “I should update our allies on the change of plans.”

“See that you do,” Nikola said curtly. She waved her hand, dismissing them. “Alright, to your positions.” Everyone filed out through the back door of the building except for the nobleman, who went to the radio upstairs. Before he got too far, Gunther felt a gentle tug on his sleeve and stopped. He heard his commander say, “Not that I care, but… You better not need rescuing again.”

Able to tell she was embarrassed, Gunther forced a forlorn smile and turned to place a hand on her head. She began to pull away, but decided she trusted the engineer not to do anything stupid, accepting the contact. He sighed weakly and said, “Don’t worry about me, boss. You’re the one who needs to be careful.”

Nikola released him, and he walked away, following after the chaplain. “It is an order!” she called out, but Gunther didn’t respond. Instead, he held out his arm, making a fist of acknowledgment.

-

“You tread a dangerous line, Corrector. For all we know, the loyalists might defect themselves,” Siegward said, crossing his arms and looking through the broken frame of a window. Personally, he had always been in objection to the plan, but was overruled by Karl.

Sorina grunted, removing her glove. She picked at the sores forming on her hand. “Am I supposed to care what a savage and a criminal thinks? Ulf is of no consequence—his delusions of grandeur are nothing more than a fantasy. Halvard, on the other hand…” She snickered coldly. “We both know his soul is for sale… Now, excuse me. I wish to see how this valkyria stacks up against a pair of humans.”

Siegward waited for the monster to leave before allowing himself to breath. He had almost gotten used to her alternate personality’s passivity. Now he was left wondering just what exactly was going to be unleashed on the North.

-

It had not taken Chiara long at all to find VK; almost as soon as the small girl had reached the heaviest fighting, a blinding blue beam shot down the street, vaporizing the survivors of Ulf’s squad. The huge captain himself was still alive, just barely. There was a wild look in his eyes, and with excitement he held out both arms in reverence. “Wonderful! Just like the stories!”

VK continued to advance on him, a strange weapon mounted on her left shoulder. It was a grotesque amalgamation of ancient valkyrian and modern technology. To Chiara, it seemed as if someone had chopped the top off a valkyrian lance and stuck it in a dark green cylinder, complete with a trigger mechanism. At a glance, it seemed like it must’ve been rather hefty to wield, but VK remained focused as she took deliberate steps towards the Northern Wolf.

Opposite the stoic demigod, Ulf was enraptured. He threw his rifle away, causing Chiara to gasp. Instead, the warrior unsheathed Bjorn, holding the impressive axe in both hands as he steadied his footing. A trickle of blood dripped from his nose and stained his braided beard. This time he cried out, “At long last! Valkyria! Grant me an end worthy of my legend!”

VK halted her advance, perplexed by the man’s passionate demand. She smirked underneath her mask, pleased to discover the general was just like the rumors had said: a warrior of spirit, willing to smile at death. She pointed the frankenstein weapon towards him and the gun hummed, charging a ragnite crystal concealed in its base.

Chiara clutched her Dunkel closely, captivated by the duel she was watching. Ulf roared heartily and charged forward, battleaxe held high above his head. He closed the distance quickly, and ducked right when she swung at him. He brought Bjorn down and VK reacted by jumping back, raising her weapon. She smirked, pulling the second trigger, and in a flash the spiral retracted to create a layered shield.

The blade connected with its ovular face and shattered instantly into a shower of metal and wood. Ulf was stunned, sliding backwards several feet. His eyes drifted to the cracked remains of Bjorn’s handle and morosely said, “Goodnight, old friend… I hope to meet again soon.”

“So cool,” Chiara whispered under her breath, before gasping when he raised both fists, clearly intending to fistfight the Valkyria. She placed her crossbow on the rubble she was laying prone behind, steadying her arm. If the captain died, it would reflect poorly on their whole unit.

However, before she could fire, Nikola slid in next to her and hissed. “Wait… Fire an explosive bolt that close and you will kill him for sure.”

Chiara turned, surprised that her partner had reached her so fast. Quietly, she replied, “That lunatic is going to get himself killed at this rate…”

Sure enough, Ulf charged again, this time narrowly avoiding a simple thrust as VK’s Stralrik passed over his head just barely. He took advantage of his size to land a heavy punch on her left side, underneath her dominant arm. VK barely even reacted, letting out a single grunt before slamming the entirety of the heavy weapon into him. The force was enough to knock the captain straight into the wall of the warehouse, creating a cracked indentation around his frame. He coughed, spitting blood onto the ground, and both girls watched tensely, waiting to intervene. The warrior struggled to his feet again, saying, “Is… Is that all?” He shook his head and then slapped himself. He bellowed, “Let me see your all of your power! Have I not earned this death!?”

VK hesitated, admiring his suicidal drive. Though she was disappointed, she had hoped the best warrior the Empire had to offer would have proven more of a challenge. Calmly she raised her Stralrik, charging it again.

This time Ulf didn’t move—he merely sighed with relief that his career was coming to a fitting end. He leaned against the wall, facing his death with a doleful smile. It weighed heavily on his soul that the legacy of his caste would soon perish with him, but he could wish for nothing greater than to be granted entrance to Valhalla at the hands of a valkyria.

Unfortunately, the killing blow never came; instead, Nikola and Chiara sprung from their position, firing two bolts in unison. An explosion followed, causing VK to stumble forward, surprised by the force. She nearly dropped her weapon and spun on her heel. Her eyes narrowed, spotting the two girls again and pointed her launcher in their direction.

“Down!” Chiara shouted, and the two of them hit the ground as a beam of blue light passed overhead. It connected with the building down the street, scattering rubble and dust into the air.

Enraged, Ulf shouted, “What in blazes are you two doing!” He glared at his saviors over VK’s shoulder. “Do not deny me this!”

Nikola leapt to her feet and reloaded. She frowned, finding his anger misplaced, “That isn’t how you say thanks for saving your skin.”

“Yeah!” Chiara yelled, shaking her small fist in their direction. She brought up her Dunkel, addressing VK, “Come on you monster! I want to carve out your eyes!”

They fired again, but this time VK was ready, effortlessly blocking the bolts. Both girls turned tail and fled. She paused, glancing back at her original target, before giving an apologetic grunt and giving chase.

Despondent, he slid to the ground, groaning on the way down. Ulf winced, knowing the radiating pain of broken bones all to well. He leaned his head back against the cool stone, staring up at the cloudy sky. Feebly he said, “Sorry lads… It would seem I won’t be joining you quite yet. Keep the hearth warm, will you?”

-

Gunther and Fedor hurried to the meeting point with Motherland. The half-track was idling near a loyalist supply depot. Several trucks were dropping off ammunition and supplies behind the fortified point in the crossroads.

As they approached, Fedor put a hand on his comrade’s shoulder, stopping him in place. “Son… Wait.”

Gunther’s sunny disposition was gone, and he turned to face him with an expression of exhaustion. “Going to tell me how this all part of the Valkyur’s plan?”

“No. I am going to tell you to ignore that voice in your head,” Fedor said as he gestured to the buildings on both sides of the street. “All that matters now is surviving. Not just this battle, or the ones to come… but yourself, as well. Do not acknowledge the inclination. The moment you give it consideration is the moment you are finished.”

Gunther exhaled, taking his cap off. “I always wondered when it would be time to pay up for what I did…” He shrugged, his shoulders dropping abruptly. “Seigval should have been the end of my story.” In many ways what had transpired at Ostend was not much different from Lowerholm presently.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Fedor said dryly, checking his machine pistol. “The Almighty always grants a chance at redemption, even to the most vile of humanity.” There was a flash of regret on his face and he frowned deeply, “Though if anyone earned such forgiveness, it was Hans… not I.” He released the Nord, holding a finger to the young man’s chest. “Regardless. I do not question my fate, and neither should you, Trofim. By all the powers of this Earth, I forbid you from leaving me alone with these lunatics. Those two obnoxious gnats are your responsibility.”

Gunther couldn’t help but laugh. It was a desperate laugh, sounding more like choking, but did serve to make him feel a little better. He returned his cap after wiping his forehead. “Heh. Guess I’ll have to live. What a miserable fate.”

Fedor released him, and snorted. “I said the same to myself, years ago.” He turned. “Come. We better get to work.”

The driver, Wolfgang, was a short man, concealed entirely in his full uniform so only his dark purple eyes were visible. He greeted them both and was quickly filled in on the change of plans. Once they finished, he barely reacted. “Suppose it has to be done, then. Shame. Lowerholm is a beautiful city.”

He climbed into the driver seat while Fedor and Gunther took over the massive flamethrowers in the back of the bed. A hiss was heard as they checked the fuel tanks, and it wasn’t long before plumes of black smoke rose above the city.

  
  


-

Irving grimaced as he stuck a hypo into his leg, intending to dull the pain radiating from the chunk of his neck that was missing. Once the serum was injected he waited, trying to keep still while the coagulating agent pushed through his blood stream. From where he was sitting, he watched as a republican soldier helped his wounded comrade limp down the street. Part of the unfortunate man’s right leg was dangling only by a tendon, leaving a bloody trail behind him as they walked. The rhythmic pounding of machine guns was getting closer, and it didn’t take a tactician to know things were going poorly for the rebels.

Reaching over, Irving grabbed his shotgun, laying it in his lap. He ejected the purple shells to swap them out. His head was a little fuzzy from the medicine, and he tried to let the feeling subside while debating what to do next. The thought of pressing forward with his assigned task of kidnapping Graf was enough to make his long-buried conscious revolt.

Fortunately, the agent’s internal quandary was pushed to the back of his mind again when the radio crackled to life and he heard Hoyt call for him. “Irving.”

“I am here,” He said, pressing the receiver. He struggled to his feet, using the wall behind him for balance.

There shouting on the other end, followed by a blast. Hoyt spoke again, sounding breathless, “Looks like the Imps have decided to torch the city. Barbarians… I am ordering a full withdrawal, I suggest you and your friend do the same. Doesn’t look like they intend to leave anything standing.”

Irving heard a shot, and instinctively ducked behind the wreckage of a civilian car. The bullet pinged off the side of the metal door, he could see black clad Imperial scouts taking up positions in the building at the end of the street. The two men must have spotted him, so he decided to lay low. Speaking directly into the receiver, he said, “Then we need to stop them.”

There was silence on the other end, before Hoyt suddenly spoke. “You are welcome to try. Most of my men are tied up helping the remaining civilians evacuate.”

“On it,” Iriving said without hesitation, loading a few more standard shells into his shotgun. He sprinted across the street, keeping his head low. If the two scouts saw him, they didn’t fire. He pulled the metal covering open that led into the sewer and dropped into the darkness.

-

Lying prone on the roof, Sorina had a birds’ eye view of the chaos playing out on the ground level. She was impressed by Nikola and Chiara’s ability to go toe to toe with the Vinnish valkyria. Though she was doubtful that it was a testament to their own abilities, rather than merely proof that the once-pure bloodline of the Valkyur was diluted beyond repair. It was clear now that the United States was using her to rob the ruin further to the North.

Peering through her scope, she aimed at VK, musing to herself. “Do not fret, pitiful creature… I will grant an end to your suffering.” She pulled the trigger.

-

Sorina’s bullet interrupted the charging of VK’s weapon, forcing the valkyria to crouch, retracting the spiral into a shield again. She glared upward at the white-haired sniper, squinting in the sunlight. Her momentary lapse of concentration allowed Nikola and Chiara to slide into cover behind a stack of crates.

Frustrated, Nikola tapped her Dunkel as her brow furrowed, “That… lance is rather impressive.”

“Why didn’t our valks have something like that?” Chiara whispered, leaning her back against the crate as she grabbed the grenade bundle from her belt. She watched as their opponent paused, popping a ragnite core out from the back of the platform before sliding in a new one. “So… how many of those do you think she’s got?”

Nikola loaded a smoke bolt, planning to try and pincer the valkyria. “That is irrelevant. Just do not get hit.” She fired from the hip, and the canister skidded across the ground, producing a gray cloud. Using it as an obstruction, she sprinted across the way, taking cover behind a shipping container.

Their ability to remain mobile was the only thing giving either girl an edge over VK, whose weapon, at a glance, seemed frustratingly cumbersome to wield. Trapping her in a pincer movement, both girls fired two explosive bolts simultaneously at the valkyria, who reacted by leaping backward. The resulting blast threw debris in the air, giving them both a moment to change position.

Keeping her calm, VK ignored the blonde target, turning her attention to the red beret that was more of a blur then a proper opponent. She adjusted the dial on the side of the Stralrik, causing the attached lance head to hum as electricity sparked to the tip.

Quick to react, Chiara opted to slide nimbly underneath the beam that passed directly overhead, vaporizing the area behind her. Thrilled, she stuck her tongue out childishly. “Haha! Missed me!”

Taking advantage of their opponent’s attempt to ignore her, Nikola maneuvered behind VK, switching to a poison bolt. There was no guarantee it would even reach her, but it was worth a try. The small girl fired again—and to the surprise of all three of them, the bolt embedded itself in the back of the valkyria’s shoulder blade, earning a grunt in response.

VK froze, feeling a cold numbness seeping out across the entry point. She heard Nikola snicker, “I guess you are not bulletproof…”

Unperturbed, VK calmly lowered her weapon, reaching backward as a blue haze began to form around her, counteracting the poison. She wrapped a hand around the nock* and yanked the bolt out with a growl.

However, her lapse of focus was soon interrupted by Chiara, who took advantage of the moment to dash forward with the grenade bundle. “Eat this!”

Without pause, VK glared and kicked the grenade back toward the girl who exclaimed, “Whoa!” As it skidded back toward her.

Chiara dove away from the explosive, clutching onto her beret. She could feel the heat through the bottom of her boots as a shower of rubble landed on top of her. This distraction caused Nikola to exclaim, “Insolence! You have no right!” She fired a second poison bolt into the valkyria.

Underneath her mask, VK frowned; if anything, she found her opponents to be the insolent ones in this case. Pressing forward, intending to avoid making Irving’s mistake, she remained focused on the brown girl.

“Stop ignoring me!” Nikola shouted as the valkyria walked toward her partner, who jumped up, nimbly darting away. Deciding to keep the pressure on, Nikola unsheathed a knife, rushing into the fray and slashing blindly at VK’s legs.

Finally this caused the silent valkyria to react by swinging around in frustration. Bringing the full weight of her weapon crashing into the side of Nikola’s head, who was thrown to the right, hitting the shipping container. She cried out, blinking away her spinning vision.

Ominously, VK approached her with deliberate steps. She was curious as to what was so special about the girl; so far, she was unimpressed, she thought as she yanked the second bold from her body. She calmly began to load a new ragnite core into her launcher, allowing it to charge again.

Nikola’s eyes widened as an idea came to her. She loaded her Dunkel and, catching sight of Chiara to her left, shouted, “Shoot the base! Disable it!”

Catching on immediately, Chiara sprung into action. “On it!” Together in a display of unity, they both fired at the same time.

Nikola’s bolt passed underneath the spiraled lance, embedding itself in the flat portion of the box that constituted the base of VK’s wonder weapon. It stuck, causing the weapon to spark. Chiara opted to use a barbed bolt, and it slammed into the broad rectangular side, breaking apart once it pierced through the metal portion.

VK pulled the trigger mechanism, yet no beam manifested. Instead it whined, making pitiful metallic grinding noises as the internals were damaged. She slapped the top of it, annoyed.

Nikola scrambled away, running over to her partner who was watching their enemy. Their jaws dropped when VK pulled a second trigger, causing the lance portion to come free, becoming a more traditional-style valkyrian weapon. She then turned facing them, pointing it in their direction.

Quietly Chiara grumbled, “That isn’t fair…”

Grabbing onto her partner’s shoulder, Nikola said. “We are falling back!”

-

Montgomery angrily paced the perimeter of the room, cane tapping loudly against the floor. “Who does that bloody lunatic think he is! Waltzing into my city in the company of foreigners.”

Karl rubbed his eyes, having not even had the chance to sit down before he ran into his boss. He put a hand on the table. “And you are certain it's him?”

A pointless question that resulted in Montgomery thwacking his cane against the table leg. “Of course I am bloody sure! Miserable bastard felt the need to flaunt his survival _personally_. He’s mocking me, Ludwig.”

“Or he’s just trying to provoke you,” Karl replied, crossing his ankles and leaning back in the chair. He rested a hand behind his head and continued, “What exactly did he feel the need to tell you?” Montgomery grumbled under his breath and tossed the balled-up piece of paper over. Karl smoothed it out and read it over. He scowled in thought and finally said, “Hm. This is rather dramatic isn’t it?”

Montgomery paused, taking a deep breath trying to calm his nerves. He instinctively reached to push up his glasses, only to realize he still wasn’t wearing them. Lowering his hand, he replied, “Belgar always had a flair for drama.”

Karl raised both eyebrows, but then nodded his head. “True enough. Can we determine if this is a threat, a warning or a farce?”

Striking the table again, Montgomery suddenly declared, “He is risking too much for it be a simple farce!” He brought his cane down to the floor, “My guess is that he's referencing the A2 project.”

“Possible. Though it is just as likely that Heinrich is lying like always.” Karl said simply, his mind was preoccupied with the news of the recent attack, and it was proving difficult to get a word in. “Putting everything aside, did he say anything else?”

Montgomery placed his cane on his lap, “Yeah. That duplicitous little worm wants to see a play.”

“A play?’ Karl asked, glancing back to the words on the paper. “So he wants to create a situation where you two can speak alone.”

“Now do you understand?” Montgomery said tapping his finger against his knee. He grimaced. “The nerve …. He's put me in quite the awkward position. A defector wanting to speak to _me._ Can you imagine what the Emperor is going to think?”

Karl massaged his temple feeling the pressure building behind his eyes, “I doubt his majesty is of any consequence.” He looked over, “Regardless for the moment I would say it's best to ignore him.”

Already having made up his mind Montgomery shook head, “Absolutely not.” He grinned maliciously, “He's come all the way here to tell me something. I just hope whatever it is, is worth his life.” Putting both hands on the table he mused, “King Hartwig owes me a favor. No doubt he could reserve me some seats.”

Karl sighed, reaching into his jacket for his pack of cigarettes. “Have you forgotten Empress Gothia? What on Earth do you plan to tell her?”

“That I am a patron of the arts, who believes our guests deserve a chance to delight in first class performance by our wonderful theater,” Montgomery said with a flair, tilting his head to one side in thought. “Is Et Victoria Fidei still being performed?”

Karl frowned, not keen to have to listen to another rendition of the popular Imperial play. “Surely it would be … more diplomatic to choose a less bombastic production.”

“Nonsense. You do not win the war of ideas by playing things diplomatically.” Montgomery said, shaking his head dismissively. “Besides I always enjoy Lady Inzhu’s performance as lead. She truly speaks of our motherland with a compelling admiration.”

“Right …” Karl said able to tell there would be no arguing. He waited making sure that was all. When the Lord Commissar remained silent, he changed the subject.“There is another matter that requires your attention.”

Deadpan Montgomery said, “Ludwig. I will remind you that I am not in an ideal state of mind to receive any more bad news.”

“Well, unfortunately, our enemies never rest. There was an explosion at Krimm’s Eastern depot,” Karl said, leaning his chair forward. He removed a cigarette, putting it into his mouth. “Several bombs were detonated causing a chain reaction that killed Leopold along with a handful of his men.”

Montgomery winced as if pricked by a needle, and slowly stood. “I … I see.” He walked over to the window, feeling a familiar weight on his shoulders. Staring back at the embassy he let out a long morose sigh, “You would think it would get easier, Ludwig … But too many of our Empire’s best have perished as martyrs to a cause that in a better world would never be their own.” He pushed his cane into the floor, “Leopold was a boy of such promise, a credit to his class. Please inform the duchess I will be attending the funeral.”

“Of course.” Karl said choosing to let the topic rest since it was obvious the man he had come to respect immensely wasn’t made of stone. He lit the cigarette taking a long pull on it. Eventually the Lord Commissar returned to the table, and he spoke. “I redirected Klara to her old position … She has requested clearance to use class K weapons.”

Pausing Montgomery considered the request commenting, “Our stockpile is rather limited … and I would need to petition his majesty for more.” He shook his head abruptly finding the idea unconscionable. “No. Her request is denied. I have seen what gas does to the human body, it is far beyond simply inhumane.” With that he walked over to the door. “Please excuse me, I must update Empress Gothia.”

-

Ulyana listened in bewilderment as Montgomery explained in detail to Catherine why they should take an opportunity to entertain the delegation away from the embassy.

The Empress was equally perplexed, sitting cross-legged with her hair done up in a bun. She had been in the process of changing her complex outfit when he demanded an audience with her. The Lord Commissar rambled incoherently for only a few minutes before Catherine interrupted him by raising her hand, “York, would you stop being so melodramatic and get to the point.”

Montgomery paused, wiping his brow and calmed himself. “I merely recommend a change of setting. It would encourage our guests to lower their guard.”

“Hmm. I see.” Catherine said her lack of an expression, doing little indicate how she actually felt. Calmly she dropped her head backward, “Ulyana. Be a dear and fetch me some medicine. I have the most dreadful headache.”

“Right away.” Ulyana said, giving a respectful curtsy before disappearing behind a red curtain.

Montgomery raised an eyebrow but Catherine didn’t bother sating his curiosity. Instead she looked back at him and sighed exhausted. “Very well York. We can do things your way.” Peering down her nose she squinted wondering what exactly he hoped to learn by meeting with a defector, “After all it seems Heinrich went through a lot of trouble to speak with you personally. It does make one wonder… .”

Having expected at least a degree of scrutiny he pushed up his glasses, “Your majesty. Had I known this is how he would resurface, then I would have recused myself from an active role.” Leaning on his cane he hastily added, “My assumption is that whatever he wishes to pass on is the intended goal of this meeting, and will decide how our talks precede.”

“No doubt.” Catherine said, placing a hand on her chin, reminiscent of Doctor Belgar himself. “Though that does beg the question as to why send a whole delegation for information one man could supply.” She slowly shook her head, “Though no matter. Our guys have come a long way and deserve some proper entertainment. Allow me to speak to King Hartwig, a change of venue cannot hurt anything.”

Montgomery gave a short bow, “Thank you, your majesty. I will be sure to pass anything of note along.”

“See that you do.” Catherine said icily as he made for the door. Before he could exited she cleared her throat causing him to pause, “Oh and York. I must warn you, there are those in the Court who feel the office of Lord Commissar no longer holds loyalty to the crown. Please do not give me a reason to agree with such sentiments.”

Forcing a conciliatory smile Montgomery responded simply, “I have never faltered in my unwavering loyalty to the State. Those doubts are misplaced.”

He left and Catherine couldn’t help but notice he sidestepped the accusation. Loyalty to the state, did not equate to loyalty to the crown. Thoughtfully she mused, “What a curious man.”

“Something the matter, your majesty?” Ulyana asked, revealing herself, holding a small paper cup and two tablets.

Catherine took both in each hand, “Not, yet dear …” She popped the pills, and chased them down with water. “Truly the most exhausting men are those who profess undying devotion to an idea.”

Ulyana wasn’t sure what the Empress meant. She made the mental note to bring it to someone’s attention once the operation concluded.


	3. Chapter 3

Fleeing upwards out of the dockyard’s dip, Nikola and Chiara found VK hot on their heels, brandishing her new frankenstein weapon. No longer encumbered, she was fast enough to keep pace with both girls.

Panicked, Chiara shouted, “We really pissed her off!” They rounded a corner, narrowly avoiding a beam of light behind them. “What–What is the plan, Nikola!?”

“Improvise!” Nikola yelled back before instinctively shoving her partner into the cover of a doorway, then leaping in the opposite direction herself. This time a sparkling blue orb flew by, exploding once it connected with lamp post. While she was trying to wrack her brain for a solution to their present predicament, her attention was drawn to the billowing smoke cloud towering in the distant city center. She pointed up and called back to her partner, “That way! Hurry!”

Chiara whipped around and fired a bolt at their pursuer, who reacted by knocking it away with her half-lance. The small girl cried out to the valkyria as she chased after her partner, “Worthless science experiment!”

-

Keeping his head behind the heat shield, Gunther kept his finger on the trigger as a stream of fire shot out like a hose. The men of Kriegstotcher took enjoyment in the destruction, creatively adding to the blazing inferno that trailed behind them; occasionally a grenade would explode, sending clouds of debris into the hazy air.

Fedor, on the other hand, kept his stony demeanor as he mumbled prayers under his breath. He kept an eye on Gunther to make sure the young man was holding up. The atmosphere was growing thick, making his eyes water. Occasionally a firefight would break out between the republicans and the advancing squad, though the resistance was stymied by the overwhelming superior firepower of the Imperials.

Hope for the defending Nords rested with Irving, who was setting up an ambush point further down the road with the assistance of a lancer and shocktrooper from Hoyt’s personal squad. Their goal was clear: to contain the Imperial engineers before more damage could be done.

Their plan was to use a crater in the center of the advancing half-track’s path, in which the three men took cover. Pressing against the dirt, Irving spoke quietly to the man on his right, carefully trying to keep the lance out of view. “We’ve only got one shot at this. Don’t miss.” He turned to address the shocktrooper, “You, shoot the tanks on the back of those engineers.”

The soldier nodded, keeping his Robinson at the ready. Irving pulled another canister from his belt, squinting at the faded label to make sure it was the right one. He was hoping to force the squad to split in order to pick them off easier. Hearing the roar of the engine getting closer he jerked the pin, and counted under his breath before tossing it over top.

-

The canister skidded across the street, stopping at the foot of one of the black-clad engineers who stopped abruptly. “Wha –?”

A cloud of yellow gas spewed forth; instantly recognizing the tactic, Fedor shouted, “Hold your position! Enemies straight ahead!” He released the trigger of the flamethrower and jumped over the side of the half-track.

Gunther, surprised, kept one hand on his own flamethrower, the other hand reaching for his rifle. Sure enough, Irving leapt from the cover of the crater, firing off two shells. One narrowly managed to catch the tank on the back of the first unfortunate engineer, who exploded in a vibrant plume of blue flame.

Leaning from the driver’s side, Wolfgang ducked, avoiding a burst from the enemy shocktrooper. He shouted, “Thank Krimm for extra armor plating!” before opening up with his sidearm.

Irving motioned for the lancer to stay put; he had to react quickly as Fedor charged him like a bull. The two men met in the middle of the road, the priest attempting to skewer him with his bayonet, which for once was properly attached to his gun. “Miserable Vinnish rat!”

“Ah, come on! Don’t be like that!” Irving said, taking advantage of his shotgun’s superior length, stabbing his own bayonet into the chaplain’s shoulder.

Fedor gritted his teeth and jerked away. He fired point-blank, but found Irving was incredibly nimble, as he dropped to the ground to avoid the spray of bullets. With wild eyes, the chaplain grinned. “Allow me to send you to the Valkyrur!”

As the two men struggled, Gunther’s eye was drawn to the tip of the lance sticking out of the crater in the ground, and he frowned. It was just out of range of the flamethrower, so he picked up his rifle. Turning to the other squad members, he commanded, “Suppress that crater!” Following his comrade’s reckless lead, he then proceeded to leap over the side of the half-track.

Fortunately for the Imperials the wind had changed, blowing most of the mustard gas south-east. Irving was much too absorbed in his duel to notice; his opponent was deranged, consistently closing the gap between them despite his own attempts to keep some space. When the chaplain stabbed at him again, catching the side of Irving’s bandaged neck, he exclaimed, “You Imps really should just go home! This isn’t your land!”

“Hypocrite!” was Fedor’s only response as he narrowly missed a shotgun blast that caught the half-track behind them in the front, causing it to start smoking. He jerked himself forward, pushing the weapon upward. “Vinland is just as guilty as our Empire!”

He slammed his head into Irving’s with a loud crack, and both men staggered backward. Taking advantage of the chaos, Gunther ran past them both and Irving spun around, realizing the engineer’s intent. He raised his shotgun, intending to shoot the Nord, but instead was forced to move left to avoid another burst from the chaplain. He yelled over at his shocktrooper ally, “Are you blind? Stop that Imp!”

The shocktrooper never got the chance—he was cut down by Wolfgang, who managed to land a lucky shot between the eyes. The soldier hit the ground with a thud and, surprised himself, the driver’s eyes widened and he looked at his pistol. “Why aren’t sidearms standard issue…”

Irving knocked Fedor back again, opting to disable the half-track himself. A smart decision on his part, because Gunther reached the lancer and raised his rifle. “Sorry.”

He pulled the trigger, and a splatter of grey matter and blood hit the back of the crater, the other soldier crumpling to the ground.

In a desperate move, Irving pulled a grenade from his belt, tossing it toward the bed of the idling vehicle before anyone could stop him. In a chaotic flash, three things happened. First, two hands grabbed Irving’s shoulders and hurled him back. Second, Wolfgang, panicked by the ominous metal clink, dove from the half-track with his hands over his head. Third, a deafening explosion followed, sending blue fire into the sky.

Silhouetted by the fire, Fedor looked inhuman. A trickle of blood ran down his left ear, ear ringing from the blast. He staggered by Wolfgang, who groaned on the pavement, toward the Vinnish agent. Irving grinned at the machine pistol as it was jammed into his face. “Heh. Looks like you got me.”

The other Imperials crowded around him as he tried futilely to crawl away. Fedor stopped him by bringing his boot down onto the supine man’s chest. The chaplain remained stoic as he jerked his bayonet free from his gun’s barrel. “I’d offer you comforting words, but you didn’t give Hans such dignities…” He swung the long blade down.

Irving braced his body, yet the blow never came. Instead, he saw Gunther holding the chaplain by the forearm. The young Nord said, “Don’t the Valkyrur preach mercy?”

Fedor glared at his comrade, tightening his grip on the bayonet. “There are no Valkyrur on this forsaken battlefield.” He roughly shoved the engineer back, barking, “This dog has shown no mercy! He deserves no mercy in return!”

With that, Fedor plunged the knife into Irving’s thigh, causing him to cry out. Panicked, Gunther pulled the mad chaplain away. “It’s not your call!” Keeping at arm's length, he gestured, “Boss… Boss will want to interrogate him. It’s their decision.”

Putting pressure on his fresh wound, Irving laughed. “You Imps… Acting like you care about the rules of warfare.” He grunted, feeling blood spilling through his fingers. “By all means, take me to that little lab rat… Makes my job easier.”

To Fedor’s shock, it was Gunther that reacted violently this time. Walking over, he kicked the specialist in the stomach. “Shut up! You aren’t going to hurt any more of my friends!” Losing his cool, he followed up his kick by striking Irving in the face with the butt of his rifle. There was a crack as the specialist felt the bone in his nose shift a few centimeters to the right.

Having pushed himself up, Wolfgang massaged his ear and snapped his fingers twice, trying to make sure he wasn’t deaf. He held out both arms. “This is clearly personal for you two. Don’t waste any time, just shoot him.” He shrugged and added, “I doubt the agents would do anything different.”

Irving laid there smiling at the three Imperials. “Go on then. Shoot me, it won’t change anything.” Wolfgang was all too glad to comply, but before he could pull the trigger a beam of blue light blew past them forcing him to jerk away. The distraction allowed Irving to roll over, grabbing his shotgun. As he did a blur of purple and red sped by. Nikola and Chiara stopped in front of them only long enough to yell, “Get into cover!”

Gunther, Fedor and Wolfgang, along with the remaining engineers, complied. A futile effort, considering the fire was raging on both sides of the street.

VK was walking toward them, eyes glowing an intense red. A faint haze of blue light shrouded her form. She noticed Irving laying on the ground, offering him a grunt on acknowledgment and a hand up. He took it and was pulled to his feet. He shot her a thumbs up and said, “Disabled it.”

On the other end of the road, Wolfgang was the first Imperial to speak. “So… Uh. What’s the plan now?”

Chiara loaded an explosive bolt, face plastered with a grimace. “Burn that miserable witch. She’s our priority.” She fired, aiming at a burning building near their Vinnish enemies, causing flames to burst into the street.

-

King Hartwig was ecstatic at the prospect of hosting foreign dignitaries, asking only for sixteen hours to prepare the Schwartzgrad Theatre for their arrival. Built in the style of Valkyrian architecture, the opulent building perfectly codified both the Imperial aristocracy’s appreciation of the cultural arts and their tendency towards excess.

Inside were towering pillars of marble, decorated with golden etchings that stretched the length of the lobby. At the forefront of the obsidian floors was a fountain depicting a miniature version of the Emperor, seated as if in thought. His face was sculpted as if the great monarch was looking upon every visitor, a novelty as the statue seemed to be watching no matter the angle one looked. On the day of the performance, the delegation, along with Empress Catherine, was greeted by Hartwig at the entrance.

An eccentric man and the cultural minister of the Empire, Hartwig believed it was his personal responsibility to ensure that the Empire remained the artistic beating heart of Europe. Greeting the visitors, he bowed deeply, his gray hair almost touching the ground. “Esteemed guests. Welcome, welcome!”

Catherine allowed him to affectionately kiss her hand and then said, “You are most gracious, King Hartwig, for humoring us on such short notice.” While she handled introductions, Montgomery lingered a few feet behind the group, subtly twisting the ring on his finger as a signal to one of his men working the door to inform Karl to get into position.

“Not one for social gatherings, are you, Sir Black?” Marcus’s smooth cadence and near flawless Latin made his voice unmistakable. Since he was one of the only people present who knew the Lord Commissar’s true identity, it was not particularly surprising he had opted to approach Montgomery while he was alone. The businessman’s suit was pristine, and despite its modernity, made him look right at home surrounded by wealthy aristocracy. He cleared his throat, checking the pocket watch that was tucked neatly in his breast pocket. “Personally, I find them to be quite the chore.”

Montgomery leaned into his cane. “Yes, exhausting. Unfortunately, if all people were like us, the world would simply grind to a halt.” He cast a wary glance over to the unscrupulous businessman. “But I will admit, visiting the theatre in good company is always a welcome change of pace.”

Marcus was silent, seeming to be intently focused on the back of Belgar’s head as the man exchanged pleasantries with Hartwig. After a minute, though, he checked his watch again before adding, “And perhaps with some good drink and entertainment, our negotiations can go ahead.”

“Hmm, yes. Though it would certainly help if her majesty knew what was being asked of us.” Montgomery said, forgoing a vague approach in favor of being brutally direct.

“I imagine so,” Marcus muttered, checking his watch for a third time before finally returning it to his pocket. He let both hands fall to his sides, though it was obvious he was resisting the compulsion to reach for his watch. “You are going to have to speak with Edward. I had to pull a lot of strings to make sure he was able to attend this meeting.”

Without elaborating further, the business tycoon walked away, leaving Montgomery to grumble to himself. Eventually the party was ushered upstairs into two separate rooms reserved for the royal family. Each was complete with luxurious seating that allowed a perfect view of the stage, and a table where numerous spirits were laid out. Imported wines, domestic vodkas, and rice-based liquors from the Far East were placed atop white lace tablecloths cut into diamond patterns, resembling a spider’s web. Ulyana and Karl masqueraded as stone-faced servants, tending to any more obscure requests of the foreigners.

True to her word, Catherine made sure the parties were separated. She, Olaf, Laura, and Herbert took one room, engaging in a trite discussion about the Empire’s belief that the war was still in their favor—which the Admiral was quick to dismiss, retorting with an inappropriate question as to what nation’s troops overran the Seigval line the year prior. Montgomery, Marcus, and Belgar were spared the Empress’s wrathful response and took their seats in the second room. Red carpeting, golden engravings on the wooden chairs, and a black eagle centerpiece on the refreshment table added to the ambiance. Below, rows filled with lesser noble guests could be seen, as they were chosen specifically for their tendency to avoid involvement in politics.

Awkwardly trying to get comfortable, Montgomery leaned his cane against the railing and grimaced when it slid to the ground, the decorative knob-handle clattering against the ground. Embarrassed, he grunted and picked it back up, his leg aching more than usual. Perhaps in proximity to the person responsible, Montgomery considered.

Allowing Karl to pour him a glass of red wine, Belgar couldn’t help but smirk. “Almost got away from you there.” He gestured that he had enough, and the disguised commissar shuffled to the businessman.

Montgomery glared, bristling at the condescending tone. Dropping the performance, he hissed, “You shot me. My condition is wholly the fault of your oversensitiveness.”

Realizing the play had not even started, Marcus rolled his eyes and gestured for the whole bottle of Vodka. He didn’t even bother filling a glass, instead snatching it from Karl and taking a drink without any of the charm expected of his demeanor. Unbothered, Belgar swirled the red liquid in his glass before holding it under his nose, finding the fruity aroma pleasant. Finally, he spoke, “Yes… I do suppose that does put a damper on things. You must understand, Monty. It was a shortsighted mistake on my part. Passion tends to cloud one’s judgement.”

“P–Passion? Mistake!?” Montgomery practically leaped out of his seat, enraged. He would have, at least, if his leg wasn’t stopping him. Instead he leaned over Marcus, jerking a finger toward the doctor. “You listen here, you traitorous cur. My men and I did exactly what you asked. Kept away competitors.” He angrily gestured to his leg, “I have never walked normally since! I was bed-ridden for weeks! The infection alone almost killed me! You have any idea how much you set back my…  _ work. _ ”

He opted to avoid admitting to his own more questionable pursuits. Belgar didn’t react, leaning over as well as the overhead lights dimmed and a spotlight illuminated stage left. His face harbored little, if any, emotion. “It certainly was politically convenient for your  _ work— _ ” he said the last word with a smirk, “—that our alliance was severed. Didn’t want his majesty peeking behind the curtain, did you.” He leaned back, waving a hand dismissively. “You let me flounder to save yourself. Fortunately, we both survived our respective ordeals. Let’s call it even.”

Marcus had sunk further into his chair, taking another swig from the bottle in his hand. Had there not been a man between them, Montgomery really would have struck his old friend, but fortunately Karl pushed a cup of tea prepared specially for him into the Lord Commissar’s hand, whispering, “Easy, sir.” Pu’er imported from the Far East, judging by the smell. He was still angry, but he couldn’t very well stay mad with a cup of tea to drink.

On stage a chubby bald man grinned, draped in a dark robe. With a booming voice, he introduced himself as an impartial observer to the tale that was soon to be told. The red curtains were drawn back, revealing a dark forest and a regal but shadowed figure riding a horse through it.

Familiar with the entirety of Et Victoria Fidei’s script, Montgomery could practically recite the opening monologue from memory. Unfortunately he wasn’t going to be able to enjoy the production. Marcus crossed his legs and said, “Surely a more subtle play would have been appropriate.”

“Nonsense,” Montgomery said whilst delicately holding onto his tea, as if it meant more to him than the whole world. “You are guests in our country. It behooves you all to learn a little history.”

Marcus pursed his lips, reading the label on the bottle in his hand curiously. “Fair enough.” He glanced left then right and sighed. “I will remind you, Edward. We have not come here to place blame or to bicker.”

Belgar took a sip of wine, swishing it once in his mouth. Satisfied, he said, “Yes, I am aware.” He tapped the glass and attempted to soften his tone. “Monty, whatever resentment you hold toward me needs to be set aside for now. There are more important things at play than our mutual disdain.” He gave a short shrug. “I forgive you.”

Montgomery visibly flinched, almost dropping his cup. “I don’t want your forgiveness. It’s one thing to try and kill me… Its a whole other to jeopardize our Empire with your betrayal.” He was gripping the teacup so tightly his knuckles were white. “Have you no concept of loyalty.”

“I consider myself apolitical,” Belgar responded casually. “It was simply beneficial for me to make my exit when the time came.” He kept his attention on the stage, adding, “Besides, you have certainly done well to take advantage of the situation. The Commissariat’s power rivals that of most noble houses now… at least according to our agents.”

Montgomery’s ears pricked up and he looked over. “Are you suggesting the Vinnish intelligence service–”

“Merely an observation from the outside,” Belgar interrupted rather impolitely. Changing the subject, he continued, “By the way. Where on Earth did you find such an intriguing specimen?” The Lord Commissar raised an eyebrow, prompting him to continue, “Surely you didn’t think that disguise would fool me. I have spent my life studying valkyria.” He tapped his temple. “The eyes are a dead giveaway. You are most fortunate his majesty didn’t notice.”

“I am afraid I’ve no idea what you are talking about,” Montgomery said, pushing up his glasses with his index finger. He took a sip, savoring the warmth of the tea. “Might I suggest an eye examination? Your studies have no doubt caused much strain.”

His snarky quip caused Marcus to snort, but he managed to stifle his laugh. Instead, he tried to once again refocus the conversation, “Please, gentlemen.”

“Fine.” Montgomery said, shifting in his seat. “Enlighten me. Why is this wretch here?”

Marcus was about to speak, but Belgar cut him off. “I am here because I am the only one you will believe.” He turned his head, facing his old comrade. “After all, weren’t we once in agreement? That setting Europe on the path of peace requires more than simple… how should we say… Childish platitudes.”

Taking over, Marcus finally got a few words in. “Yes, indeed. This war has long overstayed its welcome.” He paused, placing the bottle on his knee. “And I once was ecstatic for it. My returns nearly tripled last month alone.” His eyes flicked left, “Though it goes without saying, there can be no profits to be had if there is no world left.”

Montgomery cocked his head, suddenly listening intently. The ominous nature of the final sentence was not lost on him. “Is this about the fallout of Operation Cygnus?”

“Ah, excellent, your mind is as sharp as ever,” Belgar said, though York couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or genuine. “Yes, though at least partially. As I am sure you’ve come to understand, that test was tragically… inconclusive. But it did provide some incredible data in regards to the limits of the human component.” Montgomery grunted, but didn’t say anything, so Belgar concluded with, “Which I should make clear, is no longer going to be a problem.”

“Thanks to you, no doubt,” Montgomery said dryly, as an orchestral piece began to play, filling the theater. The first act, which they’d mostly ignored, focused on the political challenges of uniting the various royal families into a larger alliance.

Belgar’s demeanor darkened considerably. “No. It would seem another solved Albert’s formula without my input.” Despite a lack of emotion, his gray eyes were alive with a serious rage. “I passed on my research, only to learn that I was obsolete before arriving.”

A feeling of intense schadenfreude was enough to cause Montgomery to smile. However, Marcus had a different reaction. “That isn’t quite true. You have saved us time on developing a proper propulsion system, not to mention advanced our medical science nearly ten years.”

“Save me your meaningless praises,” Belgar shot back, dropping any sense of civility. “All of my achievements… All of  _ Albert’s  _ achievements have been patented by vultures of capital like yourself.” He gripped his glass tightly. “Do not pretend as though you have regrets about the course you have set the world on.”

Marcus bristled and looked ready to strike the doctor himself. “I voted against weaponizing your research.” He didn’t elaborate, instead taking a drink and sinking lower into his seat. “How was I to know the plan was already set in motion?”

Enjoying their discord, Montgomery remained silent. Belgar scoffed and shook his head disdainfully, then addressed his former ally once more. “Monty…” The Lord Commissar looked over. “I need you to understand. Albert was right, and  _ we  _ were both wrong. The genie cannot be put back into its bottle.”

“So?” Montgomery retorted icily. “Your own 1920 report made it abundantly clear that weapons of mass destruction are the future of warfare.” He leaned closer. “Tell me why I should care about what a treasonous dog like yourself has to say?”

“Because…” Belgar trailed off for a moment, lowering his glass as the cello swelled. “I cannot stomach the idea that Albert and I’s legacy to the world will be one of ashes.” He said no more, turning his attention to the play.

As did Montgomery, grumbling under his breath. He cast a quick glance at Karl, who was smoking in the hallway, staring daggers into the doctor’s head.

-

Using the rooftops, Sorina managed to reposition herself in a way that gave her a partial view of the street on which Nikola and Chiara were facing off against VK. The spreading fire, while achieving her desired result by isolating the portion of Lowerholm, was quickly getting out of control, obstructing her line of sight.

She sighed, opting to crouch and observe the conflict. “Come on… Don’t hold anything back. Let me see your true power, child.” When a beam of blue light cut through a wall of the fire, she grinned. “Good… There is a spark of life… Eheh, I will take it all from you. Piece by piece.”

-

On the ground, Nikola and Chiara were finding themselves choked out by the smoke. Unfortunately, their chief opponent was wearing a respirator and relentless in her assaults. VK charged forward, slamming her lance into the ground. The resounding shockwave tossed the lightweight Chiara into the air, who shrieked as she was thrown unceremoniously into a pile of rubble. In an instant she was back on her feet, desperately patting away flames that had caught her shoulder. “Ah, ah! Hot!”

“Come on, Chiara! It is not that bad!” Nikola chided as she slid through the gap between VK’s legs, jumping up behind the valkyria and firing a standard bolt straight into her back.

VK was quick to react, whipping around while swinging wide. The side of her lance passing just above the small girl’s head, who nimbly jutted her bayonet forward. Unfortunately for Nikola, the move left her vulnerable. VK’s boot connected with her chin, throwing her backward.

She managed to stay upright, spitting a mouthful of blood on to the ground. Taking advantage of her isolation, Irving darted toward her with the syringe in his hand. His leg wound meant he was too slow to close the gap; she was already sprinting away when a volley of fire from Fedor forced the specialist to keep his sights on the rest of Kriegstotcher, rather than his target. A shot from Gunther’s rifle grazed Irving’s cheek, and he pumped his shotgun with his forearm. “Fine! Your heads will have to do!” He fire two bursts as his enemies scattered, and began to hobble in their direction.

Nikola reached Chiara, who coughed, sputtering ash from her mouth. She wiped it away with a grumble. “I am tired of this. Give me Belgar’s medicine.”

Nikola began to object with a concerned noise, though she didn’t get the chance to voice her protest as another beam from the valkyria’s lance forced them to part momentarily to avoid it. Once back together, she hissed, “We agreed!”

Chiara grabbed her partner’s arm and jerked it. “I know! But the only way to get closer to that bitch is if I cannot feel anything!” The blonde girl hesitated, genuine worry cracking through her cold facade. In reassurance Chiara whispered, “Trust me. I trust you to make sure it does not kill me.”

Nikola made a stunned sound, her eyes widening. “You trust…” She stopped short of saying anything and nodded, handing over the vial.

They spread apart again as VK charged them and caught two bolts for her trouble. Desperate, Chiara hastily took a single tablet, letting it dissolve under her tongue. Her pupils dilated and she calmly laid her Dunkel on the cobblestone before screeching, “Graaaaaaah!”

She charged into the smog directly at the blue haze surrounding her valkyrian target. It took Nikola only a minute to see that her partner wasn’t to incapacitate their enemy, in order to disarm her. So acting fast she leaped forward, sprinting behind the sluggish VK who, unable to pay attention to both, missed Chiara as she connected with her. The valkyria stumbled, shocked by the force, and Nikola giggled maliciously plunging her bayonet into VK’s side who staggered away, tripping over burning debris. She slammed into the ground, head inches from the spreading flames.

Taking advantage of her impaired state, Chiara ruthlessly began to attack the arm that held onto the lance with stabs, even biting at the valkyria’s arm. She shrieked between attacks, “Die! Die! Die! Monster!” The medicine allowed her to ignore the intense pain radiating up her arm from her clenched fists. When VK didn’t release her weapon, Chiara changed tactics, aiming her blows at the valkyria’s face. Her spike knuckles plunged into flesh; she dug her nails underneath the mask, tearing it free.

Shocked, VK grunted as her vision blurred, the blue light growing more intense. She could taste blood bubbling up into her mouth and angrily spat red mist into Chiara’s eyes. She headbutted the agent with a quiet, sickening thud, and using her superior strength tossed the girl away with ease.

Chiara crashed backward, sliding across the charred ground. VK got up, but before she could act, Nikola fired a bolt that pierced through the valkyria’s forearm, causing her to cry out. Another soon followed, stabbing cleanly through her palm, and she finally dropped the lance. It clattered against the stone, and Nikola smirked. “That is what you get for underestimating us.”

“Ah!” VK whined, before biting the bolt, jerking it from her hand which she could no longer move aside from a slight twitch of her fingers. She attempted in vain to pick up her weapon, as blood poured from the fresh wound. Her regenerative capabilities were more limited than other valkyria, and now her disadvantage was clear. Panic fully set in as Chiara rallied, throwing herself back toward her prey. This time she grasped a fistful of poison bolts, which she jammed straight into the kneeling figure’s lower back, causing a weak burst of light as a terrified VK’s eyes started to glow red.

Seeing her sway out of the corner of his eye, Irving knew that they were all moments away from being vaporized. Not keen to die in such a place, he acted quickly, parting with his syringe as he plunged it into the direct center of Fedor’s sternum. The priest stumbled backward, staring down at the needle. A sudden chill overtook his whole body and he crumpled to the pavement.

A furious Irving ignored the pain radiating upward from his leg, limping over to his injured comrade, “Get off her, you animals!” He kicked Chiara in the face, using what force he could muster to knock her away. He followed up with a slash of his bayonet across her carapace, then slung VK’s arm over his shoulder. “Now isn’t the time for anything so drastic! Dying wasn’t in our orders!”

The injured valkyria groaned, giving him a concerned, hazy look. Irving pointed his shotgun at Nikola, shouting, “You know what this is, don’t you? She can’t control it!” He referenced the intense glow surrounding VK. “We’re all going to get blown up!”

Nikola stopped and raised her crossbow into the air as their enemies retreated from the fighting.  _ So much for Sorina’s claim about a lack of will, _ she thought to herself. Chiara, however, still in a drug-fueled rage, yelled, “I am not finished!” She took off after them wielding her knife.

“Chiara, wait!” Nikola exclaimed. She turned to Gunther, who was attempting to wake Fedor, and shouted at him, “Get her Dunkel, then fall back as far as you can!”

The engineer nodded and hoisted the limp Fedor onto his back. Wolfgang grabbed the crossbow and they fled from the raging inferno.

-

Sorina watched the event with a fascinated interest, licking her cracked lips. “So… you do possess at least a modicum of power.” She lowered her rifle, deciding she would not remain idle at their next encounter. She clenched her left hand into a fist. “Most excellent. What a wonderful feast there will be.” She slid from her perch, descending back down to the ground.

-

Charging after the two blurry targets ahead of her, Chiara’s breath came in ragged growling gasps. In the back of her mind, she knew the danger posed by VK’s final flame; with the amphetamines still coursing through her, she could hardly pay her own fear any mind. She nearly closed the gap between them when a large hand shot out, stopping her in her tracks. She was hoisted up by the scruff of her neck by Ulf, whose voice was booming, but totally calm. “Enough, little one. You will have your victory another day.”

Chiara struggled against his grip, kicking her feet and clawing at his arm aggressively. “They are getting away! We need to stop them now!”

The tip of her blade slashed across the top of his hand, and he dropped her unceremoniously. Her sharp pupils caused Ulf to pause, expression saddened. “So, this is what the Empire’s warriors have been reduced to…” He could tell she was overcome with some kind of stimulant; it was a strategic decision he found disgraceful. He shook his head, dismayed. “Cattle…”

Fortunately, he didn’t have to restrain Chiara, as Nikola reached her and immediately tackled her partner. She held tightly, arms wrapped around her agitated comrade like a vice. In a whisper, she said, “It’s okay, Chiara. You did well.”

Ulf stood in silence, keeping his eyes on each end of the alley to make sure no one crept up on them. Chiara resisted at first, writhing in an attempt to free herself. Failing that, she growled, “Let me go! He will not get away again!”

Nikola ignored the other girl and maintained her grip. “No. I am not going to let you hurt yourself.”

She knew it was just a bad reaction to the drugs; this was something they’d dealt with before. The aggression and erratic, unpredictable behavior was just something they would have to ride out.

Chiara did everything she could to break free, but Nikola was already prepared. When her attempts failed, she stilled, falling quiet. After a moment, Chiara began to mumble, “Nikola… Why are you stopping me?” She awkwardly tried to recoil from Nikola’s grip, then froze. “They are our enemy. We need to kill our enemy…” She narrowed her eyes at her partner. “You… You want me to fail.”

Nikola grimaced at the accusation, feeling her chest tighten. “Chiara. I do n—”

“Get off me!” Chiara shouted, jerking herself free as she shoved her partner back. She jerked a finger at the other girl, “I will not accept retirement that easy!”

Concealing her own upset, Nikola slowly stood. She had to remind herself that it was the medicine making her partner paranoid. They’d been there before, after all—handling one another’s temperament during the comedown once was a familiar part of their routine.

Painting a stoic expression, she simply said, “We will settle this later. Right now we need to get back to the men.”

Ulf quickly took the opportunity to interject. “I agree. No reason to start fighting again.” Chiara huffed but didn’t protest as the three of them left.

-

Intermission came faster than Montgomery expected. Once the incredible operatic performance by Lady Iznhu came to an end, the lights returned, illuminating the palatial hall. He stood, assisting his lame leg with his hand, before reaching for his cane.

Belgar leaned over to the man seated next to him and whispered, “If you would, Marcus, please tell Laura… it is my personal opinion that an agreement can be reached.”

Marcus nodded, tapping his nose. “As it is mine.” He stood up, giving a short nod to Montgomery. “Excuse me, Sir Black.”

Still somewhat distracted appreciating the excellent acting he had witnessed, Montgomery didn’t respond. He turned, though, when Belgar walked up to the railing and said, “While we have a moment, could we step outside? I would like to stretch my legs.”

“Hmph. Try not to shoot me this time,” Montgomery grumbled, gesturing toward the archway leading back into the hallway.

Belgar remained expressionless, though it was more than obvious he was suppressing a smirk. “Trust me, it would be better if we spoke away from the others.”

He left and Montgomery bit his own tongue, following him. He paused briefly in front of Karl, whispering, “Try to assuage Empress Gothia’s doubt in me. Tell her this rat has provided little more than cryptic statements.”

-

In the hallway, Karl crossed paths with Ulyana, whose face suggested she was at her wits end. As the two of them stopped side by side he spoke quietly, “I take it things are no better on your side?”

Ulyana clasped her hands together, rubbing her knuckles. “I didn’t think it was possible, but Empress Gothia has managed to talk for nearly an hour without saying anything at all.” She moved her head slightly, trying to appear aloof. “These ambassadors keep prattling on about the United States’ willingness to supply our Empire with ragnite in exchange for other raw materials.” She scoffed, continuing, “As if we don’t need that steel to maintain the war in the first place. They must think we are fools.”

“Possibly. Though Heinrich wouldn’t be risking everything for a simple trade deal,” Karl mused, having only heard snippets of the conversation between the three men as he played the unceremonious role of waiter. “Monty is clearly convinced his career is worth hearing out that traitor.”

Lowering her voice to a whisper, Ulyana leaned closer. “If you don’t mind me asking, what is Lord Commissar York’s relationship with… Heinrich? Her majesty seems perplexed by the whole charade.”

Karl hesitated, his eyes darting around to ensure everyone else was moving along. “Let’s just say—” He patted his left thigh, “This was a parting gift.” He then paused, making a perplexed expression, “That said. I cannot for the life of me understand why Monty would trust that traitor now.”

Ulyana raised her eyebrows, looking down at her feet. “Maybe its not about trust, rather… consistency. I never met him personally, but others often remarked on Heinrich’s brutal honesty. He doesn’t spare feelings.” She nodded, as if convincing herself, “We must have faith in the Lord Commissar. Otherwise we are afloat in a dark sea without a helmsman.”

“Hmm.” Karl began, but upon noticing Catherine watching them out of the corner of her eye, fell silent. He nodded, “Perhaps you’re right. Please excuse me.”

  
  


-

Outside the theatre, Belgar and Montgomery were greeted with the cool evening breeze. The glow of the street lamps and the occasional passing car provided a peaceful atmosphere, until the latter man stopped and demanded, “This has gone on long enough. What is so bloody important?”

The doctor remained silent, folding his hands behind his back thoughtfully as he gazed up at the starry sky. He could recite nearly all the constellations by memory, but ultimately found his attention drawn to the half-moon. Its cratered face provided him a sense of comfort. “Do you ever have regrets, Monty? About the suffering men like us have inflicted on the world?”

Montgomery kept his distance, firmly pushing his cane into the step below his boot. “None whatsoever.”

“Right. I suppose you wouldn’t,” Belgar replied, not particularly surprised by the answer. He cracked a wry smile. “The ends justify the means, does it not?”

Montgomery shook his head. “Not quite. The ends justify the means, only if the means justify the ends.” He kept one eye on his rival, and the other on a shadowy figure in the window across the street. “And I assure you, my means are justified.”

“I am sure they are,” Belgar responded, sounding utterly unconvinced, as he continued to stare upward at the sky. “Well, I must admit… I have come to regret my role in setting the world on its current course.” He smiled solemnly, as if remembering a pleasant memory. “Albert’s brilliant mind blessed him with incredible foresight, and in my youthful selfishness I murdered him.” The elderly doctor shook his head, genuinely disappointed by his own actions. “What a fool I was—to think personal fame mattered more than the ramification of our research.” He turned to face the Lord Commissar. “But fortunately, fate has given me a second chance. We can still avert the coming disaster. In order to do so, let us bury the hatchet, Monty.”

Finding his empty gaze unnerving, Montgomery looked around making sure no one was within ear shot. Aside from a nobleman smoking a pipe on the other side of the square, they were alone. His eyes flitted back to the doctor’s. “You…  _ shot… _ me.”

Having expected such a response, Belgar could only offer a shrug. “Oh, please, York. Let bygones be bygones.” He waved his hand dismissively. “We were both playing a game much bigger than either of us. And, well,” He smiled, the same kind of manipulative smile that made his victim’s blood run cold. “It’s not like you didn’t use it to your own advantage.” York shot him an annoyed glance, and Belgar added, “Set aside your anger. If not for me, then for your beloved Empire.”

Montgomery pinched the bridge of his nose and grumbled, “Very well.” He sighed and pressed against his temple. “This is about the A2 series, right?”

“A3, actually. Adjustments have rendered the A2 largely an obsolete relic.” Belgar clarified mechanically like he was reading off a technical manual. “But yes. Certain…  _ limitations _ , let’s say, have been removed. The United States is anxious to take advantage of this next generational leap.” This time he made sure to check that no one was paying attention to them, before coming closer. His glassy gaze was unnervingly intense. “How much do you know about the Far East Empire’s recent attempt to secure several islands on the boundaries of its sphere of influence?”

A brief silence followed as Montgomery thought about the few reports involving the growing crisis in the Pacific. “I know fire was exchanged with USV marines stationed at the western Port of Falhstrom.”

Belgar nodded, expecting the answer. “What has yet to be reported is the Far Eastern Empire massacred the whole garrison. An act of war… as I am sure you grasp.” He shifted, speaking quietly. “The Far Eastern Empire has unknowingly awakened the giant, and said giant has no interest in risking the lives of its citizens in a lengthy ground war far from home.” His demeanor darkened considerably. “In fact, it would rather avoid war in the East at all. Now I ask you, Monty—if you wanted to, say… prevent a prolonged conflict in a single act, how would you go about it?”

Montgomery’s answer was immediate. “A show of force. Show the enemy that they are outmatched.” His jaw dropped slightly as it dawned on him. “Not unlike what was attempted with… Operation Cygnus.”

“Correct,” Belgar said, tapping his nose, a thin smile forming. “But as we established, that particular operation failed, mostly due to a lack of nerve on the part of the Federation’s soldiers. The United States has no intention on relying on its weak ally again.”

“Then the United States itself aims to repeat Operation Cygnus?” Montgomery pondered aloud, putting together part of the puzzle. “But attacking Schwartzgrad again?” he scoffed, “Like we would roll over so easily a second time.”

Belgar shook his head. “Not just Schwartzgrad.” He motioned for the Lord Commissar to come closer, and when they were inches apart her started to whisper, “About, let’s see… Twelve hours ago, several unmarked ships left the Nystavanger dockyards. Aboard them is a new class of weapon.” He paused, making sure his words were getting through. “A short range ballistic missile modeled after those the Valkyrur possessed, and of course…” He put a hand on his chest. “My own personal designs, utilizing ragnite implosion. They are heading to several locations behind the Federation’s frontline. Once ready, shall be fitted with a valkyrian core.” He held up a finger. “Their target? Every single major Imperial city, industrial center or not. The goal is twofold—totally bury the Empire so it can be recolonized with a more amicable government, and to sell the surviving colonies to the Far East in order to broker a mutually beneficial agreement.”

Montgomery fell into a stunned silence, the idea making him feel faint. For all his bluster about Europe in ashes, standing above the abyss once more was impossible to process. The magnitude of the destruction… Millions of lives extinguished, for what? Economic gain? It was simply inconceivable. He jerked a finger towards the doctor and hissed incredulously, “That is absurd. Vinland is still bound to the 1905 neutrality agreement! And—”

“Do you really think that treaty means anything to these men? A draft regarding a declaration of war has already been drawn up,” Belgar interrupted, losing his almost limitless patience. “This is about the future of warfare, Monty. A few million dead Imperials is a fraction of how many more would die as a result of a prolonged European war and resulting food insecurities. To them, this is basic cost analysis.”

Montgomery could tell he was serious, and the doctor’s weighty claims made his head spin. Yet, doubt still clung to the back of his mind. “If that is true, why the delegation? Why are you here?”

“I am here because Marcus understands, we stand on the edge of oblivion. Once those missiles are in the air, the genie won’t go back into the bottle.” Belgar answered bluntly, echoing the businessman’s earlier statement. “As for the delegation, it is merely a way of squeezing a few resources out of the Empire before Operation Snaer is put into action. Though I feel Laura, and perhaps even Herbert, both have reservations about the idea, since they believe this war will be over soon enough regardless. That is why my presence hasn’t been reported to High Command yet.”

“I…” In a rare event, Montgomery found himself unable to formulate a response. If what he was being told was true, then everything had been upended. He gasped, exclaiming, “Is that why Vinnish operatives are stationed in the Nord Republic?” He remembered where he was and coughed.

Belgar’s eyes held the truth. “I have done all I can to impede our progress. Once the ruin is cleared, we are to leave, aside from a skeleton crew.” He raised an eyebrow, gesturing with a gloved hand. “However, all is not lost. If, by chance, the Imperial forces were to suppress the Nord Republic, we would be forced to evacuate hastily to avoid creating an international incident. Thereby putting the everything on hold temporarily.”

Montgomery found his hand trembling, and took a deep breath, trying to dissect what he was being told. In an effort to calm his nerves, he took a step back, leaning heavily on his cane. “You say temporarily.”

Turning back toward the grand theatre, Belgar slid his hands into his trouser pockets. “Yes. It’s only a matter of time before we find an equally favorable location… That is why I need you to listen closely, Monty. This war must end.” As if to drive his point home, he repeated, looking down at his shoes, “It  _ will _ end. Not simply a ceasefire… The Empire _ must _ withdraw all its forces from Western Europe, and in doing so, deny the United States a chance to be the saviors of Europe, riding in on horses of white like the Valkyrur.”

“Bloody mad men,” Montgomery muttered, once again instinctively moving to adjust glasses that were not on his face. He stared blankly at his former rival, “I must admit, Heinrich. I figured seeing the Empire in flames was exactly what you would want.”

Belgar bristled at the accusation, and he shook his head. “It’s like you don’t know me at all, Monty.” He muttered something quietly to himself, then added. “I am a man of science. I hold no animosity toward the Empire for its comical narrow-mindedness toward my research.” He waved a hand, a lack of facial movement making it hard to gauge his sincerity. “I had hoped the United States would be more open to the peaceful applications of my work, yet it turns out that was foolish on my part.” His gray eyes flicked to the Lord Commissar. “It would seem that worthless project… will haunt me for the rest of my days.” In that brief moment he sounded incredibly drained, fitting for his age. “It only takes one black spot to forever destroy a career…”

Realizing who he was referring to, Montgomery said, “Are you talking about Nikola and Chiara? Their project?”

“Yes, though I would prefer to avoid attaching personal designations to… it.” Belgar said blandly, unable to conjure up more than disdain for such a failed project. “Truthfully, I am relieved that you of all people managed to find some use for the thing, don’t misunderstand.” He revealed his little notebook again and changed the subject, “Apologies for getting side-tracked.” There was a click as he began to scribble on the page. “But it may surprise you to know that even I am not vain enough to think there is anything to be gained from destroying the Empire. Such destruction isn’t what Albert would have wanted, so I aim to do all in my power to ensure it doesn’t come to pass.”

Montgomery exhaled, rubbing his forehead. “Alright, I’ve heard enough.” He couldn’t be entirely sure the doctor wasn’t lying, but the gravity of his claims would explain why Belgar was risking his very life to pass the information along. “You have given me… plenty to think about.”

Tearing the page from his notebook, Belgar offered it to him. “Then please consider this as well. I know not what that specimen has told you, but I decided to use some of my free time to compare the transcriptions from that ruin you found to few similar ones in Vinland.” As Montgomery warily took the paper, Belgar continued. “I would advise caution. Whatever the Valkyur sealed inside, they did so for a reason.”

He then left, heading back inside. Montgomery watched him walk away, baffled why his rival couldn’t just tell him what he knew. Though, staring at the blank side of the folded paper, Montgomery couldn’t help the wave of dread that overtook him. Given everything they’d discussed, he tucked the paper in his breast pocket to read later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who would win: an aryan superhuman, or one methed-up child moving at incredibly high speeds? Anyways, very exciting stuff coming up next that we hope you'll enjoy. Part 4 may have only one or two chapters left, so we're already nearing the end of this part. It's all coming together now...  
> Anyways, thanks for reading as always. See you all next time!


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